Falling Grace
by Astridhe
Summary: Sequel to "A Gift of Malice" and "Out of Abysm". The Abyss has shifted nearly on its axis with the ascension of a new demon lord. But while Alystin and Sabal seek to investigate a new cult cropping up, their efforts are constantly bringing them across the path of the Church's foreign servant. At the same time, Llolfaen Duskryn is struggling to understand her strange heritage.
1. The Long Wait

Alystin, once of House Kenafin and now the House Wizard of House Druu'giir, threw her pencil down with a lip curled in disgust. No matter how many times she tried to draw the sigils, they came out wrong. Maybe she was being a perfectionist. Or maybe she was focused on something else. Nede had visited her a few times in the past few weeks to coax her out of her chambers, but for the most part she was left to her own devices. She closed her silver eyes, trying not to think and failing miserably.

Thirty years. Thirty years since the confrontation in the Fane and all the things that came before it. Thirty years since the world was simple. Almost a blink of an eye for a drowess her age, but she felt every one like a blow. And now? She barely recognized her life, filled with assassins and an uncomfortable level of intrigue she was helpless to escape. Living a lie of devotion to Lloth, blindly hoping that someday she would see Sabal again. She had hoped that Yvonnel's punishment would be a matter of months. Instead, there had been not hide nor hair of the inquisitor in any part of Menzoberranzan for a little more than three decades.

And so much had changed. The Abyss was shifting, her divinations and friends more connected to the planes told her. The Spider Queen was planning something, and as a devotee of Eilistraee, she found that highly uncomfortable. Just as she'd found narrowly dodging investigations. So wrapped up in those thoughts, she didn't even hear the door open. "Aly, I need you to take a look at something," Matron Nedelyne said from the doorway, snapping her out of her mental wanderings.

"Absolutely, Nede," she said, throwing the papers almost off her desk as she stood up, snapping her spell-book shut. She still couldn't bring herself to call her old friend Matron in private, though she of course used the honorific in public. It wasn't as though the cleric really cared. "Is it a surprise, or will you tell me something of it?"

"It's a statue recovered from some sort of refuge out in the Wilds near the city. I don't read Abyssal, but I do recognize it. It must be another demonic cult—no one wants a repeat of what happened with Shami-Amourae. The Church will be taking it from us once you've had a chance to study it. I understand they keep such things beneath Arach-Tinilith for reference," Nede elaborated as the pair of them wound their way down the halls towards a secured room off of the audience hall. She opened the door and heard Aly's breath catch in her throat.

In the room was a statue taller than a drow, but only because of its base. It carved out of black marble, depicting what looked like a succubus on her knees with wings curving around as if about to shield her body, a ragged wound in her chest as if someone had pierced it with a lance. There was a glimmer from the inside of the wound as though...yes, someone had set a piece of glimmering obsidian deep in the chasm where a heart would be. She could feel the power of the Abyss radiating from it, almost pulsing with a connection to something far more potent. The hair hung down as if obscuring the face, but there were gaps enough to see carved tears running down a proud face and dripping from the high cheekbones. For a moment, she was reminded of House Duskryn's Matron, but that was surely an artifact of the craftsman's style. Below the knees, Aly could read the inscription. "_Lady of Sacrifice, Queen of Sorrows, Mother of Exiles_," she said aloud, stepping forward to run her fingers over the graven lettering. She felt a surge of heat in her hand and there was an audible crackle that caused her to flinch back. "More than just a demon lord, Nede. Have you consulted the Demon Queen's Handmaidens?"

"I was waiting until after you had a look," Nede said, brow creasing in echoed concern when Aly started nibbling at her lower lip anxiously. "More than a demon lord?"

"That magic feels like something bestowed on a cleric," Alystin admitted. "There are demon lords who are also gods-the Spider Queen, for example. She rules from the Abyss. What I don't understand is how we don't know about this already. You said it was close to the city."

"At Niar'hannelyn, actually," Nedelyne said. The settlement had been left abandoned, but apparently someone else had found a use for it. She had actually felt a chill when she saw it standing on the black glass from the magical explosion that had sealed the planar rift at the heart of the city. Someone had put it there for a reason. Did they hope to recreate what had happened? Why was the site important? "Hence why I worried. Do you think it could be another incarnation of Shami-Amourae?"

"No, the Church would have warned us. She was an enemy of more than just Menzoberranzan and the drow, after all. I think this is something else. Unfortunately, we know very little about what actually happened at Niar'hannenlyn."

"Matron Siniira has been extremely tight-lipped, and Revered Lirayne even more so. I don't think anyone else knows anything except for Yvonnel's pet tiefling," Nedelyne said irritably. She looked back at the statue. "Whatever it is, it's dangerous."

Alystin nodded, looking at the face. It was carved beautifully and there was something unique about seeing a demon lord wounded and mourning. What would one even weep for? There was no joy in that expression. Queen of Sorrows...how many battered souls would find solace in such a demon's clutches? "It has a strange allure," she admitted, feeling oddly drawn to it. She certainly knew what loss felt like, particularly now with an aching heart. "So close to Menzoberranzan and not a word from the yochlol..."

"The only alternative I can think of it as is some ally of the Spider Queen allowed to cultivate a small number of followers in the Material Plane," Nedelyne said, leaving half of her thoughts unspoken. Alystin could practically read them in her expression: But Lloth is a jealous goddess, so their alliance must be considerably strong.

"Mmm," Alystin murmured noncommittally even as she pondered it. "I'll investigate as much as I can. I have a feeling we won't find too much in the literature. Hopefully the Church can do the same."

The Matron couldn't help a sound of displeasure rising in her throat. "Whether or not they'll see fit to share is an entirely different problem. Siniira has more of an in than I do. To think she and Yvonnel go at it like hammer and tongs every time they meet, arguments practically throwing sparks."

"She's been around longer. Everyone respects House Duskryn. Probably because if they didn't, they would be wiped off the map. Well, except Baenre. I think they hate the idea of a former slave ruling a House or considering herself nobility," the female wizard said softly, still looking at the statue.

"Well, you know what they say. Blood will tell...about inbreeding," Nedelyne said with a faintly wicked smile. She'd never utter anything like that where it might be overheard and find its way to Triel or the general public, but in private with Alystin or Sszrar she tended to be much less guarded.

"You know, this is how people end up flayed and then beheaded," Alystin said, ignoring the sound of the door opening. "Do you want to talk to the inquisitors, or shall I?"

"All yours," Nede said, turning on her heel to leave. She smirked at their newcomer. "Inquisitor A'Daragon."

"Matron," Sabal acknowledged with a bow of her head, moving to one side so the cleric could pass her. Little had changed about the wilder over the years, save for amber eyes that had grown a little more feral and a new scar running across her throat. A just a tiny fraction deeper and the blow would have slit her throat. The door closed and she looked at Aly.

It always amazed the mage how expressive those eyes could be, whether anger or sorrow or affection. And at the moment they were twin beacons of insecurity warring with hope. "You look..." Sabal paused, searching for the right word. She didn't have time to finish her sentence before she had arms full of wizard.

"I missed you so much," Alystin murmured before hiding her face in the crook of the inquisitor's neck. Dangerous or not, it was true.

"And I you. But it was safer this way. I couldn't lie to Yvonnel twice," Sabal whispered back.

Aly reluctantly disentangled herself from Sabal's arms, immune to the cold and hard press of armor against her body. It meant nothing compared to how much better she felt, the hollowness in the center of her chest filled. "What happened? After the Fane, I mean."

"I could ask you the same. A new House, a new life," the wilder teased softly. Her eyes avoided Alystin's for a moment, dropping to the ground as if she was recalling something unpleasant. "As for what happened...Yvonnel was quite serious about penance."

"Sabal, whatever it is, I won't be angry." Alystin found herself holding her breath as the quiet stretched on. She thought she knew what this was about, but couldn't be certain. Not with how inventive Yvonnel was, though there was probably some poetic justice in the concept of Sabal tracking down groups of drow devoted to Eilistraee. But how could she hold it against the wilder, knowing the incredible power her vows had over her?

Even through the tumult of her own emotions, Sabal could sense both Aly's comprehension and her difficult absolution. "Thank you," she said softly. She touched her forehead to the mage's. "Could we perhaps continue this conversation in a place where there isn't a demonic statue staring at us?" A trace of her dry humor was returning.

Alystin turned slightly to look at the statue. "There's something about it that...I can't explain. Like it's calling to me."

"I feel it too," the wilder said. "But that is the power of demon lords. They know what hides in the heart, and offer up their own solutions." She added in her own thoughts, not sharing with Aly who probably knew it all too well, _For a price_.

_The vows,_ Aly thought when she realized Sabal was too distracted to be listening as they walked out into the hall.

* * *

Valyne rested her chin on her clawed hands and studied the abandoned sava board. New pieces were slowly appearing on the board, some representing armies and others lone individuals. A perfect replica of the board belonged to Lloth in the Demonweb Pits, the pieces conjured up or vanishing in a perfect reflection of its pair. She could see the forces of light she had corrupted added to their armies, the flickering lights vanishing from the enemy's side to reappear on her own. And then there were the few mortals who warranted their own pieces, far more valuable in their way than whole groups for the wonders they could accomplish.

"Your move, sweet thing," Malcanthet said, draping herself over Val without hesitation. The succubus had become much more touchy since the demon lord rose to power, probably because she was enjoying holding her slain rival's title of Lady of Delights thanks to Valyne's hard work. Or because she saw the cool demeanor of the other demoness as a challenge.

"Until the Abyss's most powerful demons have fallen in line, we can't possibly muster enough power. And then there's the matter of the Nine Hells."

"Nothing brings people together like a shared enemy," Malcanthet purred, letting go of her former pupil and sliding into the chair. "I hear you have people following you now in the Underdark. Congratulations on earning a cult so soon. Most demon lords have to struggle to attain such interest from mortals."

"I can offer something no other god of the Underdark can: solace. They know I understand pain, so they come to a place they can call their own. Niar'hannenlyn and other, more hidden bastions of safety. Cessair has been extremely useful," Valyne said, toying with the carved figurine of a tiefling. She set it down again, the piece surrounded in a ring by pieces to represent the cult. Sava had always been an intricate game, but this particular version was even more complicated.

"And I hear you reward them for their devotion. Even granting them spells. And Lolth doesn't become jealous? Amazing. What did you say to her?"

"I explained respectfully that I was Her servant and so my followers are Her followers by extension. All She need do is ask and I will see it done. The drow among them still venerate Her anyway, so there's hardly a conflict of interest," Val explained, still focused on the board. She watched a piece of Demogorgon's army vanish and reappear on her side. "Oh, and I've been keeping Graz'zt and Orcus happy by chipping away at Demogorgon's support."

"Good. That distracts them from our true purposes. But you know, sweet thing, Graz'zt won't really be satisfied until he's between your legs," Malcanthet said with a grin. "It's part of his charm."

"I'm wasn't interested when he offered and I still remain uninterested," Valyne said. She was too focused on divining more and more about the nature of the Abyss as well as their plans to distract herself needlessly. "Speaking of which, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"I merely wanted to congratulate you. Since Vallashan has become your domain, the forces of good have claimed victory far too quickly and not even realized when the corruption is seeping in. Giving them opportunities to let out rage and vengeance on illusory demons, playing to their avarice with treasures, and seeding them with poison for their ambition...I'm impressed," Malcanthet said, detaching herself from her pupil.

"Living in Menzoberranzan taught me much about mortal nature. Anyway, I suppose I should be gratified that you arrived to deliver the compliment in person," Val commented dryly, never looking away from the board. She could feel her venomed blood pumped through her body, round and round, by that black shard buried in a wound that had never truly healed. Even now, it ached in a way she found strangely enjoyable.

"Only if you know what's good for you," Malcanthet said, sitting down in the chair opposite to her. "I did make you, after all."

"But you cannot unmake me, any more than you could Shami-Amourae," her host said with a calm certainty, sliding another piece, this one in the likeness of a drow wizard towards the cult. "You need me."

"Clever, sweet thing. Very clever. And when I no longer have need of you, what then?" Malcanthet asked.

Val lifted her head, blank white eyes as expressionless as the rest of her face. "We will see, won't we?" she said blandly. But something in her expression spoke of fire and metal. It gave even Malcanthet a chill.


	2. Lies and Favor

"Stop playing games with me, Llolfaen! I can feel you holding back!" Lirayne snarled with the same intensity she always brought to training with her daughter. Perhaps it was the way she herself had been trained, but the rationale she always gave was that it taught her daughter what real combat was like. Or it would have been, if the consequences were lethal. But they were painful enough. The priestess knew exactly where to hit to do the minimum amount of damage while inflicting the most pain. Without pausing to even think, she hurled herself forward at her daughter, shield up and dulled training blade hissing in a wicked arc through the air.

Llolfaen was a wiry, slender drowess with a gymnast's muscles thanks to constant training. But even they barely got her out of the way. Here she was, unarmed against an armored, armed, and trained enemy. But as her mother would often say, _Life isn't fair._ Instinctively, she lashed out with divine power like a sorcerer might with a fireball, hitting her mother's shield and flinging Lirayne halfway across the room. The cleric rolled with it and slammed her arm against the ground in a break-fall.

"Mother?" Llolfaen asked hesitantly, gray eyes wide with concern. She knew the cleric was trained, even strong enough to take on a balor. Galen had told her that particular story, though she knew he was leaving parts out. She thought of him as sort of an uncle-like figure, though there was something strange in the way he and her mother danced around each other.

"Better. I liked the part where you drove the edge of my shield into my shoulder," Lirayne said roughly, unwilling to admit that the force had winded her. She stood up and shook out the arm in question though she still kept hold of the shield. "Do you understand now? Hold back and your foe presses what they think is their advantage. But as you just demonstrated, it can easily be turned against them just as a knife can be."

"And you're not really wounded?" Llolfaen pressed.

Her only answer was an armor-piercing glare and an arched eyebrow. They probably would have begun again if the door hadn't opened to admit Galen. The human had aged greatly as she grew up, his short hair and neatly trimmed beard turning the color of steel mixed with slate and lines forming all over his face. Apparently the lifespan of a human was only a fraction of a drow's. He had a slight limp now from a battle with a deep dragon and more than his fair share of scars from so many adventures. but he was still a solid man, not an ounce of fat on his powerful body. It made him a formidable foe. "Lirayne, Zekatar told me the patrol is moving out."

"Again?" the girl cried out, unable to censor herself. These practices were the only time she really spent with her mother any more without hiding something away. No one within the House but Lirayne and the Matron knew she could cast divine spells, for her own protection. "You just got back from the last one yesterday."

"We all serve the House in our own ways," Lirayne said, shrugging off the shield and laying the sword down. Her mace was waiting by the door. She turned and looked at her daughter. "You're old enough now to understand, Llolfaen."

"Would you stay if I were a proper cleric?" Llolfaen said with an undercurrent of bitterness in her tone, looking at the floor. Her hands had tightened into fists.

Galen almost flinched when he heard Lirayne's jaw click shut. "Who said that to you?" There was danger in that level tone.

"Zesstra, when she was talking about the kinds of casters."

Lirayne sighed and strode over to her daughter. She carefully framed Llolfaen's face with her gauntleted hands, forcing her only child to look at her. "Don't listen to anything that viper says, Faen. You are a favored soul. Do you know what that means? The Spider Queen chose you to be a vessel of the divine, without books and symbols and chants. She didn't choose Zesstra. Remember that."

"Why? I want to be like you, like the Matron," Llolfaen said softly. She was privileged, she knew, with the closeness she had with her mother. Normally drow children never experienced that, but Lirayne was the youngest and had absolutely refused to let Zesstra within twenty feet of her for the first decade of her life.

"No one knows better than the Goddess." Lirayne released her daughter. "Behave yourself as befits a noble while I'm gone. I want to hear the Matron say you were faultless."

That was her farewell as she turned and left her daughter alone in the training room. Lirayne fell in step beside Galen, knowing there would be a gentle reproach for her cold demeanor. She raised her daughter as she'd been raised, with the exception of making certain Llolfaen knew she was the favored child, the apple of her mother's eye as Cess would put it. Lirayne would have died a thousand times over in any unpleasant way to protect her daughter, even if she was hardly accustomed to showing it.

"You could tell her that you love her," Galen said with a slight sigh. They'd had this talk before. "She's your daughter, Lirayne."

"She knows it, as much as drow love," Lirayne said dismissively. She brushed her sleeve as if removing the comment carelessly.

"And what about me?"

"That's different," Lirayne said, opening the door to her quarters and motioning him in. "I have to leave in a few minutes, Galen." She gave him the Duskryn family look, one eyebrow arched. "Honestly, it's as if you enjoy coaxing me to do things that could ruin me."

"Saying something nice is not weakness any more than feeling positive things," the paladin said. Age and Lirayne's abrasiveness had rounded out his rough edges, so he knew how to talk to her. Galen caught her hand and drew her into his embrace.

Lirayne hesitated slightly like she was thinking about resisting, but then she gave in. "If anyone ever catches us, I am going to be in a great deal of trouble."

"You love danger," Galen pointed out, pressing a kiss to her temple. "It's been thirty years and counting. That's thirty more than I ever dared hope for. Now be careful out on that battlefield. Your daughter and I want you coming home safe."

Lirayne smiled ever so faintly. "She might as well be your daughter, the way you train with her. How proud you look, how happy she is." She leaned back and kissed him with a tenderness he had never expected the first time with how hot her passions ran. "I'll do my best, but nothing is certain."

"Then that will have to be good enough."

* * *

Llolfaen had hidden in the chapel of Lloth since she was a very small child, so to curl up in the spider legs of the statue and simply listen out of sight was almost second nature. It was her refuge, the place she came when she was in trouble or even troubled. Her thoughts seemed clear beneath the Spider Queen's unblinking eyes in some strange way. But now she was not so comforted, listening to her uncle and the Matron speak while her mother left for campaign. Nothing, not even a child, could convince Lirayne to stay home if a large patrol or even an army was moving out.

"She has no arcane talent, Matron. And you have not seen her ever demonstrate any divine aptitude," Mourndar said in a hushed voice from one of the side alcoves, a place where they would not normally be overheard. "Send her to Melee-Magthere when the time comes. She's almost old enough now. Certainly old enough for Zekatar to train."

Ever since a little before she was born, when her mother became the favorite child, he had switched his allegiance. She could understand that much: Zesstra had been nothing but cruel to her for her whole life. Of course, she supposed there was more too it as well, just as the Patron had begun courting the favor of the House's eldest daughter. Llolfaen tucked herself more securely into her hiding place, still well versed in the lessons she'd been taught by Cessair, who was something of an unofficial aunt. But a good one, which she understood that not everyone had.

She heard the Matron's soft noise of displeasure. "We don't need a warrior. We need another priestess."

"I've left her with religious texts and descriptions of spells by clerics. Nothing," Mourndar reiterated, a hint of a nervous tremor eating away at his words. He never liked giving the Matron news that she didn't want to hear. Not when the consequences could be dire. "It is not possible to force the gift."

There was a long silence, and then finally Siniira sighed. "Very well. Go then. I will handle the arrangements."

Llolfaen waited until he'd left to slip out of her little hiding place. However, she wasn't the only person who moved out of the shadows-Siniira left the dark corner where she'd been speaking to the House Wizard. "You're a nimble little spider," Siniira said with a hint of a smile, still in her armor. She had been out dealing with an illithid enclave too close to the city and too disrespectful of drow limits. An odious task, but a necessary one. It wasn't normally the kind of thing handled by a Matron, but with the particularly strong defenses, Siniira had taken it as a challenge that couldn't be ignored. "That's hardly a Church-sanctioned hiding place however."

It was rare to get a compliment like that, so Llolfaen couldn't help the smile that snuck its way across her normally serious face. "Thank you, Matron," she said, turning and making a reverential genuflection towards the statue she had been hiding with. She felt a brief warmth at the feeling, almost a sort of caress. She had never been able to explain her connection to Lloth, something burning in her blood rather than learned through rigorous training and prayer. Perhaps it was because of her connection to the Abyss, something else the Matron had once said was also in her blood. Lirayne had been tight-lipped on the matter and Cess always said, _Ask your mother._ "Do we have to keep lying?"

"The world is nothing more than a web of lies, Llolfaen. Nothing should be trusted, not eyes or ears or even others. Besides, this particular lie is for your safety," Siniira explained, her tone instructive but not particularly harsh. "What do you think would happen if Zesstra divined you were a rival?"

There was a moment's pause and finally the girl admitted, "She would have me killed." She paused. "So I am going to Arach-Tinilith?"

"Yes, but the revelation of that will come when you are safely beyond her reach," Siniira said, her answer an indulgence. She was by no means required to share that information with the girl, but felt there was no reason not to.

The door to the chapel swung open almost with a bang and in strode Revered Yvonnel, dressed in her usual robes rather than her armor. There was practically a thundercloud hanging over her head with the way she scowled. "Matron, I want a word with you. Privately."

Llolfaen immediately darted off, but not so far that she couldn't listen in without anyone's knowledge. The key to survival was being always aware, at least in the Underdark. Apparently the surface was easy by comparison, at least if Cess was to be believed.

As soon as they were in private, the act dropped. Yvonnel sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. "I thought I should warn you, Siniira."

"Warn me? About what?"

Yvonnel looked uncomfortable for a moment, but then she steeled herself. "There's a demonic cult springing up in the areas around Niar'hannenlyn. Not Shami-Amourae as far as we can tell. But people are already whispering that your house is connected."

Siniira fanned out a hand, studying the delicate tendons flexing in the back of her hand and her smooth, rounded nails. Her signet ring glimmered slightly even in the relative darkness of the temple, the glow of burning braziers glittering off the intricate mithril ring. "So let them talk. Words are just air without something to prove them."

"Well, there may be something to it," Yvonnel said. She held up both hands when she saw the flash of anger in Siniira's eyes. "Not like you think I'm insinuating. I just mean...the yochlol tolerate the cult. The demon lord in question is allied with Lloth. Valyne disappeared to the other side. How impossible do you think it is that the connection might be there?"

Siniira's silence was all the answer she needed. And not so far away, a hidden Llolfaen asked herself silently who, exactly, Valyne was and what she had to do with anything.


	3. The Other Side

"Nede said that Yvonnel's pet tiefling knew something," Alystin said, helping Sabal undo the clasps and buckles holding her armor on. Even accidentally brushing her fingers across that red sash made chills run down her spine-a reminder of the sword still hanging over her head. As much as she felt for Sabal, it didn't change the fact that the inquisitors were not her friends and if they found her out, she would unquestionably die.

But the sash was part of Sabal too, more than just a mark of rank or service. She treated it with so much reverence as she unknotted it and unwound it from her armor, then returning it to its proper place across her hips when she was just in plain clothes. Wrapped up in it were her good memories of Xullae, all the days where her training began with her mentor winding the same fabric around her waist. It had been one of the things which belonged to her mentor that she'd claimed-really her mother, since Xullae had raised her when her own flesh and blood threw her away. "I can feel the air again. It's a nice change," the inquisitor said with one of her barely-there smiles, sitting down on the edge of Alystin's bed. "Cessair? I've met her a few times. Yvonnel has her doing reconnaissance most of the time. Highly intelligent, but very secretive. I can see why she fits in with drow so well."

"And she's just a scoundrel from the surface?" Alystin asked. "It seems strange that any servant of the Spider Queen would want to keep her around."

"She casts divine spells too, though I don't know what god she follows," Sabal said, relaxing slightly now that she was back in Aly's company. If felt strange, as if they were simply picking up right where they'd left off as if it had been maybe a day. Not thirty years. "Something dark and aligned with the Demon Queen, otherwise she wouldn't be allowed to live."

"Perhaps our Lady of Sacrifice. If so, that would certainly make her the woman to talk to," the mage said softly as she sat down next to Sabal. "I keep thinking about that statue. And a lot of things, actually. Do you still...?" She was certain that the wilder was adept enough to divine her meaning without a finished sentence, which was fortunate. She was back to having trouble speaking on the subject.

"Aly," Sabal said almost chidingly, picking up one of the wizard's hands and unfolding it with her own. She bowed a head, brushing her lips over that familiar palm. _Trust me, I still care. All I want is for you to be content and alive_. It was safer to not speak, a luxury afforded by her talents that other drow would have killed to be able to use for even a few minutes.

"You don't know how happy that makes me," Alystin said, a weight lifting from her shoulders.

"We should talk more later, when Yvonnel isn't practically breathing down my neck." _I'm sorry_. Her amber eyes looked as contrite as the thought felt. "I could summon Cessair here. She is in the city."

"No, I have a better idea," Alystin said thoughtfully. "Let me approach her. If she is involved with a demonic cult, I might be able to ask her if I can join it. She knows you're tied to Lloth, but she doesn't know anything about me. And if this demon is aligned with Lloth...well, then I have nothing to fear from Yvonnel."

Sabal shifted uncomfortably. "It would put you in danger if Cessair or some other member of their faithful discovers that you're not a genuine convert. I'm not fond of this plan," she said warily. "Besides, what if Abyssal politics change?" _You are at more than enough risk because of Eilistraee. Is it truly wise to add to that?_

"Trust me, Sabal. I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't think I could handle it." She thought she saw something approaching exasperation in those eyes. "What?"

"I know you think you can handle it," Sabal said, softening the reproach with a hint of teasing in her tone. Her expression looked as serious as always, making it hard to read her expression. "I will trust you, but the moment you say you can't handle it, I come get you."

"Thank you," Aly said with a smile. She squeezed the hands still holding hers. She was eager to find a potential solution to the problem of Sabal's vows. Even as the mage spoke, Sabal stood up and put on her armor again, rewinding the sash around the outside. "It means a lot that you're willing to trust me. Shall we go find Yvonnel's imp?"

_You know just how to sweet-talk a girl_, Sabal thought wryly, even as she let the mage lead her out the door. They gained a respectable distance between them again as they stepped out._ Aly, have you thought about how we are going to handle...this in public?_

"I've been too worried about if there was still a 'this'," Aly admitted. "Hiding is obviously necessary. Anything else would be dangerous."

_Of course there's still this. And rivalry would be the best path,_ I think, Sabal commented, stone faced. The streets outside in Narbondellyn were bustling with city life as they moved towards the barracks of the Yath'Abban. Around them, the various races of the Underdark flowed like blood along the veins of city streets, pumped by the massive stone heart of Menzoberranzan that was the Fane of Lloth. _It has been thirty years and no one knows what happened in the temple besides Nede, Yvonnel, and us. We've clashed before. Would it be so surprising if we did so again? Particularly since I did help purge your House._

"Who I had no love for," Aly muttered, contemplating the torment she had suffered at the hands of her sisters and mother. No, she was not sorry that House Kenafin was gone, not really. In House Druu'giir she was finding more of a home than her family by blood had ever been. "I do not enjoy the idea of being cruel to you."

_Sometimes we have to do things we do not enjoy for the sake of the things we do_, Sabal said. Her thumb rubbed across the pommel of the dagger with the strangely disjointed blade that she wore tucked through her belt under her sash. She could feel the raised silver spider under her calloused hand. Necessity was something she knew all too well. _If it would be easier, I can always play the villain's part for you._

Alystin caught the emotion with that thought, pained reluctance mingled with a desire to do anything to keep her safe. "You really would," she said softly, turning to Sabal. "Even though you hate it."

_Someone once did much the same for me, all for my sake,_ the wilder said, thinking of Xullae's last moments. They were painful to revisit, but sometimes her thoughts wound there seemingly on their own. She opened the door to an empty training room and pulled Alystin in.

"I thought we were going to see the tiefling," Aly said, puzzled.

_We will. First, I missed you and I want some time alone with you._

* * *

"You look flustered, Honored Alystin," Cessair said with a grin when the noble came in, glancing up from the long, slender knife she was sharpening. It wasn't hard to guess what she'd been doing with that mussed hair and vaguely embarrassed smile creeping across recently kissed lips. "Looking for Revered Yvonnel?"

The elvish-looking tiefling was sitting at the base of the magically transported statue of the demon lord with her back braced against the pedestal. She seemed perfectly comfortable there, as if it was normal to do something like that. All of her gear was laid out in front of her for maintenance, from worn leather armor stained to a dark color to a variety of knives of varying length and style to a set of thieves' tools. Aly felt that same strange pull to the statue that she had before. "Actually, I was hoping to talk to you. This isn't exactly House business, so I'd appreciate it if the subject of our discussion didn't reach Matron Nedelyne."

"That bad? And you want to see me about it? Perhaps I ought to refuse on principle," Cessair said with a smile, her blue eyes bright even in the darkness. The ring she always wore on her right hand glimmered in the darkness. "What can I do for you?"

"Who is that statue of?" Alystin asked. "It keeps pulling at me. Like I'm being called or compelled somehow. That's not a magic I've ever encountered before, not from just a statue."

"Demon lords can be gods unto themselves, if they accumulate worshipers," the tiefling explained, twisting to look behind herself at the statue. "And gods can certainly call to people. Not everyone sets out meaning to find their patron. Sometimes their patron finds them."

Alystin nodded, remembering a similar pull when she'd first found a shrine of Eilistraee out in the wilds. It had been desecrated by the others with her in the patrol, but it had been the push she needed to seek out followers of the Dark Maiden. Strange now, that she should feel the same thing. Was her Lady no longer with her? "You didn't tell me who the statue is of, though. Do you not know?"

"I can read the inscription," Cessair said, running her fingers over one of the graven Abyssal letters. She looked even more impish in her amusement, displaying sharp canines in a flash when she grinned. "The Lady of Sacrifice. Do they not teach mages Abyssal here?"

"I didn't take you for a jester," Aly said easily. Thirty years around Nede was more than enough to teach someone not to take anything too seriously. And the little jibe was worth tolerating for the little spark of approval in those blue eyes. It meant she was a step closer to what she wanted.

"I play one less often these days, though Yvonnel does have a magnificent sense of humor around Matron Siniira," Cessair said in a way that made it hard to determine whether that was sarcasm or not. "So if it's not House business, what does bring you here?"

"Scholarly curiosity. I'd be a terrible mage if I didn't try and figure out what the feeling was and why it came to me."

Cess shrugged. "Perhaps you understand loss. A House taken by the Church, a heart's desire taken by the Eyes of Lloth, a future expected taken by arcane talent," the tiefling said, far more accurate in her supposed guesses than the drow wizard was really comfortable with. But perhaps she had learned all that working for Yvonnel. The thief seemed to read her unease perfectly. "I know they're things supposed to be secret, Honored Alystin. But nothing is secret completely in Menzoberranzan."

"And here people treat you as if you're a halfwit. Your mind is like a razor blade," Alystin said softly.

"The wisest and most clever are always hiding it. I find it's better to keep my enemy underestimating me. But you know a little bit about that, don't you? Pretending to be someone you're not, I mean," Cess said with that same slightly unsettling toothy grin. "I had a friend once who was very good at hiding. Spent around nine or ten years on the surface doing it."

A chill settled into the mage's blood. _She knows. She has to know._ "Did you tell Yvonnel about me?"

"Of course not. It would be rather hypocritical of me, considering my own affiliations. But you came here for a reason," Cessair said, standing up. "Let me show you a little trick." The tiefling picked up a long, slender knife and used just the tip to prick her finger. She smeared the blood across the pedestal base of the statue that she had been leaning against and whispered a soft invocation in Abyssal. "A demonbinder taught this to me."

Alystin felt something shift ever so slightly in this portion of the Material Plane and fixed her eyes on the statue. "What did you do?"

"I opened a limited connection to Vallashan. It won't last very long, but if you want to know about the Queen of Sorrows, perhaps you should go to something closer to the source. Hello, Sehaneth. I can feel your presence. Doing well?"

The demon, newly converted from a lesser angel from the forces of light who had set out so recently to destroy the newly ascended demon responsible for the change in the Abyss, was an incorporeal presence confined to the stone statue. **Why have you opened the gateway? The Lady has taken to the battlefield with her other generals to plan the next battle**. Sehaneth's tone was adoring when she spoke of her mistress, a sort of loyalty rare to see in chaotic and evil creatures like demons. Perhaps it was a remnant of her angelic nature not yet destroyed by the darkness.

"I have someone you should speak to."

**Ah, one who felt the calling. I had hoped the statue would be taken to Menzoberranzan, though it means we will have to abandon Niar'hannenlyn. You are a mage with a House, I see. Strange. Normally it is those who have been cast aside or exiled who seek comfort in the Lady's arms, as I was abandoned. Not one who has already found a patroness.**

"Does everyone know about that?" Aly snapped.

**I smell it on you. Who do you think told Cessair?** the demon said with silvery laughter that seemed to hang in the air. **We knew you the moment you spoke the Lady's names aloud. **

"Not many demons are willing to learn a mortal's name and remember it. You seem awfully friendly with our resident tiefling," Alystin said, crossing her arms a little bit defensively. She wasn't certain how she felt about demons knowing her.

**Cessair is an exception to the rule**, the demon said by way of explanation. The stony face was impossible to read, unchanging and unmoving. But we are here to discuss you. **You want something. Not revenge, not power, not wealth. Something more important.**

"Freedom," the mage said. She took a deep breath. "And not for me."


	4. Unveiled

Llolfaen craned her neck as if trying to take in the vaulted ceiling of Arach-Tinilith's entrance hall all at once, eyes fixed to the bas reliefs of mythic history above. Around them, Future priestesses and members from their Houses flowed around each other, all of them respectful of the intimidating armored figure that was Lirayne Duskryn. "It's huge," the girl breathed softly, unable to see the tops of the arches supporting the roof because they were lost in shadow. All the way down the pillars in twisting ribbons of drow lettering were prayers to and praises of the Demon Queen of Spiders.

"By the time you leave, it will likely be as much your home as the House was. At least, it was that way for me," Lirayne said. While she was proud, there was also an ache of sorrow at the center of her chest. It seemed like only yesterday that she was tending to a scraped knee from the tumble after Llolfaen tried to run instead of taking her few first steps at a walk. _Where did the years go?_

"Mother?" Llolfaen asked, turning back towards the quiet priestess.

"It's nothing," she said, brushing off her weighty thoughts. If there was one thing Lirayne had mastered these past few years, it was hiding her emotions. Allowing Zesstra to see her weaknesses would have been far too dangerous for both herself and her daughter. She pulled off her ring, a simple mithril band engraved with their house glyph. "Take this, so you don't forget where you came from. Our line is not a long one stretching back uninterrupted to the myths of old. We came from nothing and created everything we have today through our own skill and cunning. That is a legacy more worthy of a drow."

Llolfaen took it carefully and slipped it on her finger. It fit surprisingly well, but then again, she was only a hair shorter than her mother now. "I will remember," she said. It wasn't often that Lirayne really talked about her family's history. Her lectures were generally on the history of the Church, Menzoberranzan, the other Houses, or even the Goddess. Things she needed to know to survive, not really things to be proud of.

Lirayne smiled faintly at that, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. She was doing her best not to show any of her emotions besides that pleased pride. This day was not about her; it was about her daughter. She leaned in close and whispered, "_Amin mela lle_. Be well, daughter."

The girl looked up at her mother in surprise even as the armored priestess turned away. She had never heard Lirayne speak surface elvish before. It was Galen and Cessair who had taught it to her. But there was no more to be said. It was only a moment before she lost sight of her mother and the sudden feeling of loss crashed over her.

"So you're House Duskryn's youngest," a cool voice said from behind her.

Llolfaen turned around, expecting to see another student. Instead, it was an instructor. "Revered Drisinil," she greeted, recognizing Quenthel's daughter. Siniira had pointed her out as someone to remember.

Over the last thirty years, the priestess had certainly changed. Where once there had been some sliver of kindness in Drisinil, now burned an almost fanatical fire. Something was driving her endlessly forward towards a goal only she could see. She'd lost the softness of noble living so common to the highest Houses during her stint in prison and it had never come back. "And here I thought House Duskryn had nothing but distaste for my family," Drisinil said with amusement. She'd seen how strangely close Lirayne was to her daughter and felt a frisson of envy run through her.

"Not at all," Llolfaen said, reminded of the Matron's insistence on manners. _Never antagonize anyone without need, child, even an enemy. If you are going to have to kill someone, it costs nothing to be polite._ "We have every reason to respect the city's first House and its Matron."

"Even though the respect is not reciprocated? How generous of Matron Siniira," Drisinil said, her expression thoughtful as she focused on the girl. "You are fortunate to have such mentors in your life. Matron Siniira, Revered Lirayne, Revered Yvonnel...I expect you have already come to us with much training."

"A little." Llolfaen was beginning to feel uneasy. This woman wanted something from her and she wasn't certain what it was. That was not a recipe for a comfortable young drowess. She had learned long ago that there were certain people that she could trust and everyone else was to be regarded with suspicion. "Enough to survive so far, at least. But I don't think I'll be a match for most people here."

"And she's modest too," the instructor said with the lazy, cat-like smile of a sated hunter towards potential prey.

"Thank you, Revered Drisinil, but you overestimate my abilities," Llolfaen said with a bow of her head in supposed gratitude. She honestly could not wait to be on her way.

"Do you know what the most important characteristic is among students of Arach-Tinilith?" Drisinil's eyes glittered with the reflection of that same relentlessly malevolent inner fire.

"No, Revered Drisinil."

"Cruelty." The daughter of Quenthel Baenre smiled faintly and turned on her heel. She tossed her next few words back over her shoulder to the girl. "I look forward to seeing how you do here."

Llolfaen watched the priestess walk away and counted herself lucky that the encounter had been so brief. She knew others were looking at her with envious eyes-one rarely drew the attention of Quenthel Baenre's daughter-but she hardly felt particularly fortunate. That subtle sense of wrongness had warned her of trouble to come. "Lloth help me," she murmured under her breath. The only answer she got was a brief surge of warmth through her veins, but that might have been the comfort she took from the Spider Queen.

She turned to her new life, gritted her teeth, and soldiered forward.

* * *

Llolfaen spent her first two weeks spending the time she wasn't in classes or in bed down at the training field, practicing her magic in the odd hours when the place was either empty or practically so. She was proving to be a frustrating student for her instructors-her attention wandered freely when they discussed rituals and preparation of spells, usually earning her a vicious punishment, but she had no difficulty with rites or prayers. The answer, to her, was simple: she didn't understand the preparations or why she would need them. She could cast freely without them, after all. But the rites, the prayers, those were an integral part of serving the Goddess.

Faith had always been the cornerstone of her life. When she was born, her mother held Lloth's favor and did everything to keep it, with quite a lot of success. There was no enemy too intimidating, no heretic too powerful to taste Lirayne Duskryn's blade. At least, that was what it seemed like to Llolfaen as a little girl raised on Cessair's stories about her family. Then there was Matron Siniira, the conscientious servant of the Goddess who moved in subtle ways and pulled strings that spanned the whole city with a soft touch. Then Revered Yvonnel, who was never the person she seemed to be, using the power of the Church to keep the city in line with the will of the Spider Queen. Even Galen, who she knew served someone called Torm (Lloth would never allow a human to worship her), had encouraged it in her.

Out here, she could collect her thoughts in private and usually avoid Jhalass Xorlarrin, a noble daughter of the fifth House who was turning out to be a problem. She was taller and sturdier than Llolfaen's waifish form, stronger, faster, and a talented cleric. Unfortunately, she was also possessed of an appetite for inflicting pain. Llolfaen had seen what happened to others who sparred with her and wasn't eager to be in their place. Cessair's little tricks for becoming one with the surroundings were proving incredibly useful.

But eventually, things were bound to come to a head once Jhalass finally started in on her.

"I don't know how you stand it," Solaufein Fey-Branche said. The tall warrior with blood red eyes was down at the field as often as she was, so he'd become a natural sparring partner. He could whip his sword and shield around like they were a child's toys, never feeling the weight even with his armor on. Right now, he had his shield up to guard his head and his sword low, trying to find an opening in her defenses.

"I used to watch the Matron handle other nobles. It's much the same, except a little more petty," Llolfaen said, parrying neatly and hurling a bolt of divine energy at him. The male dove to the side and rolled to come up on his feet. They were more play-fighting for the practice than sparring, the blows pulled so no one would do any damage more than a slap with the flat of a blade or a bump with a shield. Even her magic was a flicker compared to the amount of power she usually used.

"We've got priestesses coming," he warned, waiting for it to register before lowering his blade. Better not to get accidentally clipped by Llolfaen. Her love-taps with magic were still not the most pleasant things in the world.

"_Vith_," she muttered, turning to look over her shoulder. "Speak of the devil and she appears. Well, at least it's two of us."

"Hah, no. She's all yours," Solaufein said, backing away. He'd felt a snakewhip enough times to know it was better to stay out of the way of quarreling priestesses, even those still in training.

Jhalass's features were striking in their attractiveness, but in the same way a serpent's gaze was captivating to birds. And she was quite the social creature, never without a group of allies or minions-depending on their social status-nearby. Her crimson eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of Llolfaen and a male. "They are letting anyone into the Academy, aren't they?" she said, stopping just out of sword range from the pair of them. "Everyone knows Duskryn's nobles are slave-stock."

Llolfaen knew better than to dignify that with anger. Her temper was like a volcano: it took a lot to get it to go, and once it did, everything in the vicinity would get burned or blown apart. She could already feel the simmering starting under the stony, indifferent surface. She was still careful not to turn her back to Jhalass as she set the weapon away in one of the racks for training blades, not wanting to make it an appealing target. Solaufein had apparently suddenly remembered something he had to do, because he was heading back to Melee-Magthere. "Can I help you, Jhalass?" she said in a flat conversational tone, ignoring the laughter.

"I was speaking at you, not to you," Jhalass said with just a touch of amusement. "But if you want a conversation, that can be arranged."

_Well, I know who Revered Drisinil's favorite student will be_, Llolfaen thought darkly. The best revenge, however, would not be to trade barbs back. Denying Jhalass any reaction was a more effective and sometimes more enjoyable way of getting under her skin. So the young drowess started gathering her things together to tuck away in her satchel. Then she'd start the walk back to the room she had to herself at the moment. It was better that way. Loneliness was easily preferable to death by a supposed friend's dagger.

"Any more demons in the family tree, Duskryn? They seem to be attracted to animals."

Llolfaen had to literally bite her tongue until it hurt to stop herself from snapping. She gently closed her book on sword techniques that she'd shown to Solaufein rather than slamming it shut in anger and added it to the bag. Next went blade oil and a cleaning cloth wrapped around it to prevent any leaking onto valuable things.

Jhalass, however, was not keeping her calm. The complete lack of any reaction in Llolfaen was infuriating. "You little bitch," she snapped, grabbing Llolfaen by the wrist.

Instantly, Duskryn's youngest twisted her arm in a circle that broke Jhalass's grip. But instead of assaulting the girl, Llolfaen just stepped back with a deep breath. She could feel the magic starting to burn in her veins, demanding some kind of release. **Do it**, a honeyed voice whispered in her ear. **Burn the waste of flesh to nothing in My name. You know you want to. **

Llolfaen inhaled sharply at that. The last time she'd heard the voice was in the chapel before she left home. She'd heard it off and on her whole life, only in Lloth's holy places. She wasn't certain if it was madness or not, so she'd never admitted to it. _Not now_, she thought. _Too many witnesses. Students can't kill each other openly._

**Then make her suffer, or I will**. It was a promise more than any real threat as far as Llolfaen was concerned. She'd always obeyed, so she didn't know what would happen if the voice itself did something.

"Jhalass, maybe we should leave her alone," one of the others warned, seeing something dangerous flicker in Llolfaen's gray eyes. Their warning didn't get through.

"Running away, demonspawn? Unless you prefer to be called a slave, that is. It's a little less grotesque," Jhalass goaded.

"You're not worth the effort," Llolfaen said with a shrug. "You should listen to your sycophants."

A slap rang out across the training field, and then everything suddenly changed. Llolfaen's head snapped to the side as she rolled with the blow and then she immediately turned it back. She didn't even feel the sting in the side of her face as the magic surged through her body like a flash flood. The ground started to crack under her feet and all of the girls backed away. But not fast enough. She lunged and caught Jhalass by the throat, barely contained power searing flesh even restrained.

House Xorlarrin's daughter would have cried out in agony if she could have forced the air through her closed throat. Llolfaen dropped her, blindly hunting for a target she could vent some of the magic on before her head split with pain. She remembered the training dummies and hurled a blast that way powerful enough to shatter stone and splinter the wooden bodies in an explosion.

**Yes!** the voice said, exultant in the display of power. **They fear now. Look at them trembling. Weak! They should be punished for it.**

As quickly as it had come, the power ebbed away and left her with an agonizing headache. Her whole body felt weak and drained. Llolfaen didn't stagger or fall, but she did start massaging her temples as Jhalass lay on the ground and fought to get air into her lungs after nearly having her trachea crushed.

"What was that?" the Xorlarrin noble gasped out, looking in panic to her little group of followers who looked about a second from running away. Llolfaen just turned around and started walking away with her bag slung over her shoulder.

Halfway across the city, the Revered Daughter cried out and stumbled as she walked the halls of the Yath'Abban barracks with Sabal. "Revered Yvonnel, are you unwell?" Sabal asked, catching an arm to be the woman's support. They were not friends by any stretch of the imagination, but they were tied together by obligation.

"I felt the Goddess. Here, in Menzoberranzan," Yvonnel said, pinching he bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.

"That's not possible," Sabal said, but her doubt was apparent. She didn't sound very certain.

"All things are possible. Just not necessarily very likely." The priestess looked deeply uneasy. "No word of this is to reach the Houses, is that understood? I think I may know who had their hand in it."

* * *

_Amin mela lle. _- I love you.


	5. Duskryn's Secret

"Yvonnel is always keeping something from everyone, Sabal. I don't know why you're surprised," Alystin said, barely looking up from her books. She had a few volumes on demon lords and the nature of the Abyss that she was pouring over, but nothing promising had shown itself yet. She didn't understand how it was that the Lady of Sacrifice wasn't in them. It made no sense. "And so is Cessair. She's on a first name basis with demons, but I don't understand how."

Sabal leaned against the wall, looking around the vast library of Arach-Tinilith hidden in the lower levels of the famous and infamous Academy. Her connections in the Church had allowed them passage into the vaults without trouble. "This was different than the other secrets. It has to do with Lloth. I caught a single unguarded thought after that: Duskryn. They seem to be the root of a good many secrets."

The mage paused and lifted her head to meet those worried amber eyes when they flashed back towards her. "You think the two are related. How?"

"I think we need to ask Revered Lirayne that. She was the one leading troops into Niar'hannenlyn thirty years ago. Perhaps she knows something that even the Matron does not," Sabal said firmly, clearly having resolved to do something. "There is a reason you can find nothing of our demon lord in those books."

"She'll probably be here in the the library of Arach-Tinilith today. Nede always stops to talk to her," Alystin said. "She usually has her human bodyguard with her. I don't know why she keeps him around. He's clearly past his prime. I don't know if he could even defend her against an assailant."

Sabal paused. She'd seen the man in question a few times and knew he was named Galen. There had always been warmth in his thoughts when he turned his gaze towards the unreadable Lirayne. Perhaps Lirayne craved what so many drow did in secret: devotion, connection, even safety of more than one kind. Other drow were treacherous to a fault, but perhaps Lirayne had found in the human a companion an actual sense of loyalty. The wilder couldn't blame her for holding fast to something good when she had it.

Did Alystin realize she had stumbled into much the same thing? Likely not. She was too used to watching her back for any attack from any source. Sabal wondered how deep trust ran in Aly's heart.

"She has her reasons, I am certain," Sabal said a little more forcefully than usual. As tenuous as her relationship with most nobles was, she respected Lirayne. They had never actually met and talked, but the Second Daughter of House Duskryn had a reputation that spoke for itself. Which was probably part of Aly's dislike: everyone acknowledged that few could compare with the priestess in her devotion to Lloth and her skill at hunting heretics.

"I don't want to talk to her," Alystin admitted as she closed her books. "Must we?"

"Yes," Sabal said. "You said yourself that the statue bore more than a passing resemblance to Matron Siniira. Now would be an excellent time to find out why. And if anyone would know, it would be Revered Lirayne. Don't feel as though you have to come."

"No, I need to," Aly said with a sigh. "Let's go, then."

Just a little ways further into the library, Lirayne pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger, looking down at the scattered notes she had about favored souls. There were plenty of scholarly treatises, but nothing that would really help her daughter learn to master her gift. Arach-Tinilith was so accustomed to training clerics that they didn't necessarily even understand what Llolfaen was. Thankfully, she had a few years to sort this business out, even if they were years spent hunched over musty tomes until her eyes felt like they were going to start bleeding. It was possible that her daughter would be acquiring the bulk of her training after Arach-Tinilith rather than during.

She heard two sets of footsteps approaching and froze for a split second before snapping her book shut. Better not to give anyone a hint of what she was working on, for Faen's sake. Lirayne's maternal instincts weren't perfect, bur she was extremely protective of her daughter. Perhaps too much. How prepared for Arach-Tinilith was Llolfaen? Certainly, she had some martial knowledge and her magical prowess, but was she capable of the casual, seemingly random violence so common to priestesses and initiates alike? At least she knew not to trust too easily.

She vaguely recognized the amber-eyed inquisitor and slender mage who rounded the corner of the shelves. House...Druu'giir? She recalled the defeat of House Kenafin in an academic way, devoid of emotion. She had been busy so close to that little war with the fight against Shami-Amourae. Two militant conflicts in two years was no small deal for Menzoberranzan despite the war-like nature of the drow. "Can I help you?" she said, crossing her arms and putting her body casually between them and the books.

"We hope so, Revered Lirayne," Sabal said respectfully. "I'm Inquisitor A'Daragon and this is Honored Alystin Druu'giir. Would it be alright if we asked you some questions about the Lady of Sacrifice?"

Lirayne arched an eyebrow. "I have no idea who the Lady of Sacrifice even is," she answered honestly. It sounded as though it was probably related to a cult, which was mildly unsettling. An inquisitor inquiring if you knew something about the religion of heretics was not generally a positive sign. "If you would care to elaborate?"

"We think she might be a new demon lord," Alystin said without preamble. She looked a little uncomfortable, as though the sooner the conversation was over, the better. Which was honestly reflective of her internal thoughts. Lirayne could have that effect on people, particularly since the priestess looked slightly irritated about being interrupted. She was at an angle to see the books, however. She even recognized some of the titles. _Why is Revered Lirayne reading about favored souls? She's not one._

Something almost unreadable flickered in Lirayne's expression. Sabal caught a flash of pain and a swirl of other buried emotions: regret, anger, sorrow, concern. "I'm afraid I'm not so familiar with the power structure of the Abyss beyond the Demon Queen of Spiders," Lirayne said, even though she heard Cessair's words echo in her thoughts. Sabal heard them too. _She's not coming back._

Sabal was wrestling with herself inside. Part of her wanted to press and part of her was screaming that one didn't force a priestess so much in favor with Lloth to talk about anything she didn't want to. "Anything you do know could help us," Sabal said, settling on a neat compromise.

Lirayne suddenly tensed, switching from pleasant conversation to high alert. "We are not alone," she said barely above a whisper, keen ears picking up the muted sound of soft boots against the stone floor. She'd spent a lifetime as a noble evading or slaying assassins, which meant a great deal of practice in her perceptive skills. "Are they yours, Honored Alystin?"

"No," the wizard said uneasily, tightening her grip on her staff. She was beginning to wonder exactly how inoffensive Cessair really was.

Sabal heard something and instinctively twitched to the side, very narrowly avoiding a dagger aimed at her throat. She drew her sword and sprang, colliding bodily with a figure in the shadows that tried to close with her. "There's more than one!" she called out, lashing out with her pommel to smash her assailant in the nose.

There was a crack and one screamed as divine magic tore open wounds all over his body. The blood poured out and he dropped in his tracks. Sabal didn't even flinch, more than familiar with the handiwork of Lloth's clerics. At least if Lirayne was aiding them, the assassins probably didn't belong to her. The inquisitor hissed as she felt a dagger slice across her thigh and adjusted her attention to the black-cloaked figure that was responsible. Her blade snapped in an arc, slashing open the assassin's throat before she used the momentum to carry on back towards her original target. He moved and parried with a long dagger before driving the one in his other hand towards her body.

Almost as soon as she'd felt the wound, it was closing again with a brief rush of warmth. Alystin realized that she didn't need to heal Sabal and lashed out with crackling lightning, dropping the man. "I may have put a little too much power into that. I meant to keep him alive," the wizard said apologetically.

"I could heal one," Lirayne said without enthusiasm. She seemed to approve of their deaths. She continued in a more normal tone, "I doubt they would tell us who sent them anyway. That said, we might be able to find something on them."

The disguise spells on their attackers flickered and faded now that they were dead, revealing pale and dark hair. "Cessair's friends?" Alystin ventured, crouching down by one of the bodies. "Well, probably not. They're aasimar, part celestials. What in the Nine Hells are they doing down here?"

"Definitely not Cessair," Lirayne said, well aware that her old friend wouldn't have sent anyone after her or even her guests. Inquisitors were under Yvonnel's jurisdiction, so there would be no need. Cess was firmly on the priestess's side even if she didn't follow Lloth. Loyalty was one of the main things Lirayne admired about the scoundrel. But now they had other things to worry about, so she helped Sabal search the bodies. "Nothing except a sheet of parchment with my house symbol drawn on it. Probably to identify their target. That means I need to return to my House immediately. The Matron may be in danger."

"Any other priestess would be jumping for joy if someone said that," Alystin mused.

Lirayne shrugged. "Things have changed," she said simply, standing up from her crouch. "If there's anything my sister taught me, it's that sometimes blood is thicker than personal gain." She could feel Aly's puzzled expression without needing to even look for it. The sentiment was an alien one to most drow, but it was responsible for much of Duskryn's good fortune. Lirayne and Siniira forming a united front had cowed most of their rivals into submission. One powerful, favored cleric was a serious danger to confront. Two would be virtually impossible to take out unless they were turned against each other.

Sabal felt a hint of admiration for their temporary ally. Not many drow were so loyal to anything but themselves. It reminded her of Xullae. "Why would aasimar try and kill you?" the wilder asked, heading off the conversation she could feel coming. Aly wouldn't understand, not with how poorly her family had treated her when she was young. "They're surface creatures."

"It may have to do with your line of inquiry," Lirayne said, starting to walk swiftly towards the doors. She needed to head back to the House and ensure that the assassins, if they hadn't already struck, made it nowhere near her mother. "Come with me. I may need your assistance yet and perhaps we should talk after all."

"A sudden change of heart," Aly said, equal parts curious and suspicious. She wasn't used to priestesses abruptly turning on their heel to tell her the truth.

"If there are assassins coming after my family, I have a vested interest in helping you," Lirayne said forcefully, jaw tightening at the thought. Llolfaen would be safe, since she wouldn't be wearing her House symbol as a student at Arach-Tinilith. The priestess had instructed her daughter not to, after all, warning that it could bring trouble down on her head from instructors that had an axe to grind with Matron Siniira. "I'm not exactly warmly disposed towards people with their knives pointed at my back."

The rushed walk to House Duskryn's estate in Narbondellyn was thankfully a short one with Lirayne leading the way. She seemed to know every shortcut and back alley in this section of the city and was able to cut at least a few minutes off their time. Aly had to fight down the shudder at the statues of Lloth's handmaidens on either side of the gate that made her skin crawl. It was something about the eyes, as if they were watching her. And then she felt the enchantments almost wholly concealed by the powerful wards: living statues meant to defend the House if it was under siege. So really, they were watching her. That was an unnerving realization.

The audience hall was a scene of carnage at the moment, five bodies sprawled across the floor in mangled pieces surrounded by pools of dark blood. "You're late, Lirayne," the Matron said, for once not seated in the House's ivory throne. She met them on equal footing. The past thirty years hadn't aged Siniira a day, the silver in her hair simply a few threads through snow white. At the moment, her lips were pursed in something approaching irritation, probably at the fact she'd have to clean the long, intricately woven carpet laid out that two of the bodies were bleeding on. "I assume you had a similar interruption of your business."

"They sent fewer. I feel hurt now," Lirayne said, cracking a smile. "You seem to have handled it without my aid."

"It is somewhat disappointing," the Matron Mother said, looking back at the bodies. "I always hope for something challenging to break up daily life with more excitement."

"If you like, I can hire someone skilled to assault you. I'm ever your servant, Matron," the priestess said. "They're from the surface. It seems a long way to come for either of us."

"Yvonnel already does me that particular courtesy now and again," Siniira muttered before raising an eyebrow at Alystin and Sabal. "Ah, guests. Inquisitor A'Daragon, Honored Alystin, please forgive the mess. Normally I keep a cleaner house. What can we do for you?"

Alystin felt her mouth suddenly do an admirable impression of a desert, tongue cleaving to the roof of her mouth. This was a Matron Mother on the Council, one of the women who shaped the future of Menzoberranzan without needing to lift a finger. Even Nedelyne hadn't been able to secure an audience with Siniira since she ascended to power in House Druu'giir. Apparently walking in with Revered Lirayne was the trick.

Sabal picked up the slack, feeling an echo of Aly's discomfort. "It might be better discussed in private, Matron," she said softly. "Since it may be why you've suddenly acquired an assassin problem."

* * *

Even Sabal had never imagined that she would be sitting in Matron Siniira's private quarters, talking to both the woman herself and Revered Lirayne. That was the kind of privilege reserved for someone like the Revered Daughter. But she supposed strange times lead to strange places. Aly was sitting up as straight as possible and being so carefully polite that it was almost painful. She felt exposed. If either of the clerics of Lloth were to find out her own secret, she would be dead before she could blink. At least neither of them were psionic.

"What we discuss cannot leave this room," Siniira said. She paused for a moment and checked the strength of her wards of silence just in case. However, they were as powerful as the day she'd created them. "Have no fear, Inquisitor, Yvonnel already knows all this. She was there with us. Lirayne?"

"We didn't know what they were calling her, but we do know the demon lord you speak of. I virtually had to wring it out of Cessair, but between her cryptic answer and what we've been told by the yochlol, we think we know what happened at the planar rift that once stood at the center of Niar'hannenlyn," Lirayne explained quietly, toying with her wine glass. "She ascended thirty years ago to replace Shami-Amourae and took control of a plane called Vallashan, with a fair amount of help from the Queen of Succubi."

"Why do you know all this?" Aly asked, her curiosity overcoming her fear and desire to flee as quickly as possible. She relaxed slightly into her seat and allowed her academic nature to take over her.

"She's my sister. Well, half-sister," Lirayne said bluntly. "We thought Valyne had been trapped in the Wells of Darkness after her battle with Shami-Amourae, but recently it's become apparent that she wasn't. The cult surprises me as much as it does you, trust me."

"Your half-sister?" Aly blurted out, earning a barely-there smile of amusement from Sabal. "How...?"

"That I think I can answer," Siniira said calmly, removing her circlet and setting it down on the table. "Rites of Lloth often call demons forth. In this case, the demon in question happened to be much more powerful than the average summoned creature. The children of balor and more powerful demons can hide their nature. We had no idea Valyne was as she is for most of her life."

Lirayne took up the thread. "Before the battle, Malcanthet offered a way out of death to Valyne and she took it. Cessair said something about a shard. It must have come from the heart of the Abyss, the same thing that corrupted Asmodeus and lead to his fall from grace to become Prince of the Nine Hells. For Val, it and the death of Shami-Amourae lead to her becoming a demon lord. The cult must have followed. I have a sneaking suspicion that Cess probably knows more than she admitted about that too."

"She usually does," Siniira said with a wry smile.

Sabal frowned slightly. "Aly, you said the Abyss was...shifting. Perhaps the aasimar were in the service of celestials who felt it too."

The Matron laughed, the pleasant sound hanging in the air. "There's a delightful sort of irony in celestials stooping to assassination," she said with amusement. "But why would they care about abyssal politics?"

Lirayne arched an eyebrow, remembering Malcanthet. "Perhaps it won't be just an abyssal problem," she said. "Malcanthet struck me as incredibly ambitious. What are the odds she wouldn't work with another demon lord to get what she wants? Val was connected to her closely. Maybe they think it's the easiest way to interrupt her plans."

"Whatever those are," Aly said quietly. "We need a way to find out."

"That might be a good inquiry to put to our favorite tiefling," Lirayne commented, looking to her mother.

"Then do so," the Matron said. She looked over at Sabal and Alystin. "I need a private word with my daughter for a moment if you would care to wait outside. It will just be a few minutes and then she can accompany you to speak with Cessair. The rogue might be more accommodating with our permission."


	6. The Enemy Above

Llolfaen folded her arms, watching Jhalass as the first of her classmates to try to summon a planar ally. Revered Drisinil was nearby and watching with hawkish eyes for any sign of something going wrong. _A failure would suit her_, the young drowess reflected as she looked at her rival. However, the ritual seemed to be going exactly as it was supposed to. Seemed being the key word.

There was a brilliant flash of light and a loud thunderclap that sent Llolfaen reeling backwards, clutching at her eyes. She could hear the shrieks of the others, but her jaw had locked closed so she couldn't scream in pain. Another of her mother's lessons. _Never give your enemy the satisfaction_. It would take minutes for her vision to fully clear, so she opened her eyes and tried to see around the brilliantly colored afterimage of the flash. There was a glowing figure standing among them, white-feathered wings spread as the creature moved fully into their plane. It looked almost like a flawless silver statue save for the fact that it moved and wielded a flaming sword. A celestial...never in her life had Llolfaen expected to encounter one of those. And unfortunately, it seemed to be headed straight for her.

_I am sorry, little drow, but you are too dangerous to let live_, the creature said as it approached her without needing to move its lips. Its sword flared to life and Llolfaen flinched a little, the horrible ache in her head surging.

"I'm unarmed!" she shouted at the creature, staggering back away from it as she tried to figure a way out of this. Magic was the only tool she had, but her aim was not going to be precise without the use of anything other than her peripheral vision.

_That is...regrettable. But this is necessary_, the celestial said, swinging that long, deadly blade

Llolfaen dropped to the ground in a crouch as the blade whipped at where her neck had been, then sprang. She had to get in on that sword or she would die. Her shoulder slammed into the creature's hard breastplate, but she succeeded in knocking it off balance and grabbed onto the creature. With just a barked word, ragged wounds tore open along the celestial's strange silvery skin. Llolfaen bared her teeth instinctively, refusing to let go no matter how much the winged creature tried to shake her off. Distance would be the death of her, and since she was had fought her way to between its arms, her body was preventing it from wielding the sword with any great dexterity. "Drisinil!" the young drowess shouted, slamming her forehead into the creature's nose. Something gave under the blow, so she knew she'd managed to crush its nose.

The priestess had to have recovered faster than they had. Why wasn't she doing something? This was no Academy test and Llolfaen knew it. She was up against an opponent more powerful than herself, so her only hope was remembering her mother's lessons and getting lucky.

A foot caught behind hers and Llolfaen hit the ground on her back with a crash. The explosion of pain was enough to knock the wind out of her and stun her for a moment, particularly when the armored body collided with her in a crushing landing from above. She kept her fingers locked around the straps of its armor somehow, the sword skittering away across the floor. The celestial grabbed her by the collar and jerked her forward only to slam her into the ground again so hard her head snapped back and met stone. The whole world swam and spots of black tinged the edges of her vision. Llolfaen felt herself barely clinging to consciousness.

_Can't move, can't breathe, can't see, can't fight_, her mother's voice said sharply in the back of her mind. _Immobilize them. Go for the hands, the head, the ribs, the throat. In combat, the only rule is survive. _

Llolfaen let go with one hand and twisted her body, rolling them both over so she was above the creature. She punched at its throat, her hand pounding again and again and again. Adrenaline and magic were surging through her veins, the power bursting into a dark flame of divine energy around her hands. The Spider Queen's gift was burning the celestial, charring that silver flesh to a smoky black. There was a satisfying crunch under her hand and then the smite hit her.

Another flash of light illuminated the whole room for a brief second as the celestial power seared through Llolfaen and set every nerve in her body on fire. She was half-blind again, just when her vision had begun to return. Despite herself, she flinched back enough that the celestial could hurl her off like she was a rag doll. It was stronger than it looked.

She hit a person, but instead of pulling away, she grabbed them and fumbled for their belt. As soon as she felt a weapon's hilt under her fingers, she clenched her fist and drew the blade before whipping around. She had to turn her head to see the creature, which was reaching for its sword. Llolfaen again darted forward to close the distance. The wicked dagger arced in the air, punching through armor to stab in at the celestial's ribs. Blood ran all over her hands and almost made her lose her grip on the sacrificial dagger.

_Lloth!_ the young drowess cried out in her mind, uncertain if she was asking for assistance or dedicating the battle to her goddess like she'd been taught to. She wasn't even entirely loud if she'd said it aloud, only that she felt her lips move along with the thought.

She knew she had to keep stabbing. The angel had turned on her, so she went for any gap in the armor: the throat, beneath the arm, up under the breastplate. She also slashed at the creature's limbs to try and hinder or maim it as the creature rained blows down on her whole body with the pommel of its sword. She felt her collarbone snap under the assault and one arm go dead, fortunately not the one she was wielding the dagger with. It was agonizing, but she felt it in a distant way now. All she could taste and smell was wet, salty copper.

Finally, her blade punched through the armor again instead of skittering off and slipped between ribs. The creature dropped over and Llolfaen almost collapsed as well. Even after a particularly rough session of practice with her mother, she'd never been in so much pain. The dagger slipped from numb fingers and she stumbled backwards. A hand covered her shoulder and there was an audible crack as her collarbone jerked itself back into place and mended abruptly. The afterimage of the flash faded away along with her horrific headache.

"You impress," Drisinil commented, moving her hand away once her student was healed. The others had all crowded to the edge of the room, most with wide eyes. Jhalass had been smirking at the pounding that Llolfaen was taking, but the expression faded when the youngest Duskryn managed to actually kill the creature.

"I expected you to help," Llolfaen said through gritted teeth, watching the lacerations on her arms knit together swiftly. She would have a few new scars, but faint ones.

"The job of instructors is not to fight students' battles for them. How else would you have learned?" Drisinil said sternly. "Certainly, death was a risk. But death is always a risk, a punishment for those too weak to fend for themselves. Besides, you have survived where another student would not have."

Llolfaen wanted to argue, but she knew when to bite her tongue. The priestess did not look terribly welcoming at the moment, her crimson eyes narrowed at her troublesome student. The favored soul had not won many friends with her many failures to study spells and prepare them, even though she was able to cast them effortlessly. It baffled her instructors. "Yes, Revered Drisinil."

Drisinil smiled faintly. "Even if you lack aptitude as a cleric, your manners improve."

This time Llolfaen bit the inside of her cheek, feeling her temper begin to rise. The priestess could kill her as easily as the angel would have if she'd stayed in sword range. That said, she didn't have to appreciate the backhanded compliment, only acknowledge it. "Yes, Revered Drisinil."

"Good girl. As for the rest of you...that was a golden opportunity missed," Drisinil said, going over and tugging her dagger free of the angel's chest. "Any one of you could have just removed a powerful rival, as Llolfaen has proven herself to be. Remember this moment when you have to face her in the proving grounds. Now, we will try this lesson again tomorrow. You are all dismissed."

Llolfaen looked down at the ground, trying not to think about the fact that her instructor was actively encouraging her peers to kill her. No wonder so many priestesses lived in a state of constant paranoia. This meant it was time to raise her guard even higher. She gathered her things together and walked gingerly out of the room.

"Hey!" Jhalass called after the favored soul.

"I'm not in the mood for your particular kind of conversation, Jhalass," Llolfaen snapped, turning around. Her temper was still running high.

The Xorlarrin noble sped up to fall in step beside the Duskryn noble. "Truce?" she offered. "I don't want you as an enemy after that little display."

"No," Llolfaen said bluntly. Drisinil's words were still burning in her ears. How could she trust anyone not to stab her in the back? "I'd rather be a more difficult target for your knife."

Jhalass opened her mouth, then snapped it shut when she saw who was waiting ahead of them in the hallway. "Revered Daughter," she managed to greet weakly. Yvonnel X'larrez'et'soj was one of the most powerful women in the city, even if House Baenre would rather not acknowledge that, face of the Church itself. "Revered Drisinil is back in the classroom."

Yvonnel inclined her head as if in thanks or dismissal. Not willing to push her luck, Jhalass scurried off. The head of the Yath'Abban turned her gaze on Duskryn's youngest daughter. "You look...harried, Faen."

"Arach-Tinilith is not what I was expecting," the girl admitted. She wasn't certain why Yvonnel had taken such an interest in her, but she knew it probably had something to do with the priestess's cordiality with Matron Siniira behind closed doors. The cleric had taken an interest in her despite or even because of her nature as a favored soul, filling a role not like her Aunt Cessair's with some measure of support and a good deal of training. It was Yvonnel along with her mother and the Matron who had taught her all the rites and prayers of the Demon Queen of Spiders.

"Walk with me, Llolfaen," Yvonnel said, her expression still hardened into the mask of cool disinterest she wore out in public. "What do you mean?"

"Everyone here is like Zesstra," Llolfaen elaborated, walking with her mentor. She would always respect Yvonnel for the hours they'd spent together discussing religion and the nature of the divine. "Cruel, selfish, spiteful towards me. They want to throw me away just because I don't have to struggle for spells."

"Most priestesses are not like your mother or the Matron, Faen," Yvonnel said quietly. The hall was deserted now that she'd arrived, students taking refuge in the other rooms, the library in particular. They could at least pretend they were studying that way. "Infighting is natural to drow, as is the egocentric behavior of your fellow students. But now I have a question for you."

"Of course," Llolfaen said, looking up at Yvonnel. There was something terribly serious in the priestess's eyes now.

"Have you ever heard things in the chapel of the Spider Queen at House Duskryn or beyond its walls? A voice only you can hear?"

"Isn't that insanity?" the girl asked, looking over. She couldn't help the little flare of nerves. What would everyone say if she said yes? What would Yvonnel think.

"Not necessarily," the Revered Daughter said more gently. "Powerful clerics can sometimes hear the voice of the Goddess, particularly in their dreams. And favored souls, because their magic is more innate and their connection to the divine so strong, are predisposed to hear it."

"I...have," Llolfaen said, picking at a loose thread on her bag anxiously. Soon enough it broke and she was spinning the thread between her fingers. "A couple of days ago was the strongest it's ever been. I got into a fight with Jhalass Xorlarrin."

"I thought as much. I felt something change in the city for a brief time," Yvonnel said, avoiding the complete truth. It was better not to say anything until she knew for certain. She made a mental note to find a way to get the truth out of Jhalass. "What happened in your class just now?"

"She summoned a celestial instead of a demon and it tried to kill me. It said I was too dangerous to live," Llolfaen said. She paused thoughtfully, still spinning the thread between her thumb and index finger. "I don't know why it went after me and not Drisinil. She's far more dangerous. And bitter. I'm not certain what her problem is."

"She has a problem with House Kenafin, not you," the priestess explained to her younger companion.

"A dead house? Isn't it over then?"

"For her, it will never be over as long as one of their nobles lives," Yvonnel said. She patted Llolfaen gently on the shoulder. "Things will change, Faen. They always do. And with you, for the better. If you prove yourself to the Academy, the others will forget about the fact that you're a favored soul. Just work hard and punish anyone who steps over the line you set."

"Easier said than done."

Yvonnel just smiled. "It always is. Now, I have Church business to attend to. Fare well until I see you next."

When the priestess turned away, the smile faded from her lips. At this rate, it would be time to buy another favor from Ryld just to take care of this. It certainly confirmed her theory that something more was at work here and they were only caught in the middle. Something that both the Spider Queen and the Lady of Sacrifice were involved in. Something that angered celestials and revolved around Menzoberranzan. That was not a good combination, and as protector of the faithful, Yvonnel knew she would be the one tasked with doing something about it. Unless she could pawn it off on the Church's other servants, anyway. Sabal had already practically volunteered.


	7. Darkness

"Oh, Cess," Galen said softly when he stepped into the mess that was his sister's quarters in the barracks of the Yath-Abban. Books lay scattered across the floor, some of them singed. The wall hangings had been torn by a weapon that scored the stone behind it. Glassware and plates were shattered, their shards strewn about the room. The dead body of an aasimar lay sprawled across the floor in a pool of his own blood, covered in gaping wounds. An assassin, probably. He was dressed the same as those Matron Siniira had dispatched.

But that was not the source of the paladin's pain. He was focused instead on the evil divine magic he could still feel clinging to the room. It reminded him too much of a demon's corruption. Not Lloth. The Demon Queen of Spiders would never allow the worship of a half-elf, no matter how well disguised. What had his half-sister fallen into here away from the sunlit world she had called home?

There was a gurgle from the other room. A few seconds later, Cessair emerged, wiping off the blade of one of her long knives. She stiffened slightly when she saw someone and then relaxed when she realized who it was. "Sorry, Galen, I thought you were another one of them for a moment. I'm afraid I'm not really going to be a proper host until I can get all of this cleaned up."

"We need to talk, Cessair," he said quietly, combing his fingers through his gray hair. She hadn't seemed to age a day since they'd come down into the Underdark. The changes came in the way she moved, the way she spoke. The rogue had not been so comfortable, so confident, so driven, on the surface. But then again, Galen knew he had changed too. This place had shown him new shades of gray that existed between the old black and white. It had calmed him and made him cautious where once he had been brash. More than that, it had given him something to care about more than an abstract duty.

"I love hearing those words," Cess said, stepping over to the decanter of spirits still sitting on a side table. Glass crunched under her boots, but she ignored it. There was still one undamaged, so she poured a healthy measure of liquor into it and then made her way back to the couch. "What's going on?"

"I could ask you the same thing," he said quietly, sitting down on the other side of the couch. "Dark gods and demons, Cess?"

The half elf toyed with her obsidian shard necklace for a moment before looking over at him. She seemed so tired now, probably because of her battle. He could see a bruise forming on her cheekbone, a smear of angry red swelling and starting to turn dark. "So you know, then," she said with a resigned sigh.

"You don't sound surprised," he said, expression stern. It reminded her almost painfully of their father's disappointed look when she used to be dragged home by various members of the town watch.

"Should I be?" she countered softly, eyes focusing down on her glass. She swirled the amber liquid and searched the spinning whirlpool of brandy for an answer. She looked very much the part of a tiefling here, her tail tapping gently against the couch. She even rubbed at the base of one horn, so accustomed to it after thirty years of hiding. It was as if she'd lost the ability to tell where the mask ended and her face began. "I never really planned on keeping it from you. I just couldn't find a way to tell you. Or anyone, honestly. The rest, as they say, is history."

"What's happened to you? It isn't like you to be swayed by promises of power or material things," Galen said, keeping his reproach gentle. He knew she'd never taken well to sharp criticism given in an angry voice. That was why she'd left home to go wandering, after all.

"It's not like that," Cess said sharply. Her expression softened again after a moment. "I expected you of all people to understand faith, Galen. I wasn't offered anything. I chose my mistress. Now I serve out of love. And that's all. I don't expect to gain anything. She protects me without needing to be asked."

"Who?" Galen said quietly.

Before Cessair could answer, there was a sharp knock on the door. Cessair stood up and padded over to open it. "Lirayne," she greeted with comfortably familiarity, smiling again. "I see you brought my hounds with you. If you're looking for the assassins, I'm afraid they're indisposed. Galen's here, though."

Sabal smiled faintly out in the hall. Only the strange tiefling would refer to her and Aly as 'hounds'. She caught Lirayne's reaction out of the corner of her eye. As soon as the priestess heard mention of her bodyguard, her whole aspect seemed to soften for just a fraction of a second. The cleric was actually fond of her protector. "You've been giving us quite the run-around, Honored Cessair," the wilder said politely.

"Come in," Cess said, stepping back to allow them entrance. "It's a bit of a mess right now, I'm afraid. They were quite skilled. And perhaps I did, Inquisitor A'Daragon, but not without reason."

The three stepped in, Alystin wincing a little at the damage clearly done. She found the tiefling likeable, if enigmatic. It was unfortunate that her personal belongings had been damaged so severely. The fact that Cessair served a demon lord was somewhat uncomfortable, but still better than the almost crippling unease she felt around Lirayne Duskryn.

Lirayne went straight to Galen's side. "Are you alright?" she asked quietly, her back to Alystin and Sabal so they wouldn't see the faint worry lines appear in her forehead and around her eyes. She had no permanent lines yet, but with a daughter approaching priesthood it was only a matter of time.

"Fine. By the time I arrived, they were dead," Galen said. He motioned for her to sit down and resigned himself to the fact that his conversation with his half-sister would have to wait for another day. "What brings you here?"

"Killers and demons," Lirayne said, taking a seat next to him and leaving a proper amount of distance because there was an audience other than just Cessair. Aly's eyes widened a little in surprise, but she didn't say anything. It was odd for any priestess to be so attached to her bodyguard and even stranger that she would be to a human. "Cess, what do you know?"

"Well, Lloth has always wanted a real war with the Seldarine, one she can win," Cess said, dropping into an armchair. She motioned for Aly and Sabal to find a seat. "Looks like she's getting it."

There was an audible hiss from Alystin. "That's what this is? Why target House Duskryn and Menzoberranzan? The whole of the upper realms should be taking the fight to the Abyss."

Cessair held up two fingers. "One, they have been. Remember Sehaneth and how she mentioned her mistress was taking to the field? Angelic forces have been making war on the Abyss, but they can only enter through Vallashan, domain of the Lady of Sacrifice. They have a snowball's chance in the Hells of making it through there without falling to corruption. Sehaneth herself was an angel a couple decades ago." The rogue cleared her throat. "There's also the matter of the Material Plane and the way the pieces are moving here. They must think that House Duskryn has something special that the Demon Queen or her allies need."

"Cessair," Lirayne said in a low, almost threatening voice. She knew that her old friend definitely had some idea of what that was but intended to keep it close to her chest.

The disguised half-elf knew that tone. "You're not going to like it, Lirayne."

"And I'm not going to like you if you don't spit it out."

"Fine," Cessair said, playing with a lock of her blonde hair. "The House does have a conduit for a demon lord that the Spider Queen may have claimed. With a little magical assistance from her new ally in the Abyss, of course."

"_What?_" Lirayne shrieked, both aloud and psionically. Everyone jumped and Aly even flinched back away from the priestess.

Sabal massaged her temples, wincing at the aftershocks of the powerful thought. That was a little more distress and anger than she'd been prepared for. "I take it you know what she's talking about," the wilder said gingerly, not wanting to set off Lirayne's infamous temper. The last thing she needed was to limp into Yvonnel's office and catch the unpleasant end of a snakewhip because she'd set off a powerful noble.

"Yes," Lirayne forced out from between gritted teeth. She stood up, clearly ready to go do something. Only Galen and Cessair knew that it was to go check on her daughter.

The paladin reached up and caught her arm gently. "If you're still being watched, you could put Faen in more danger," he pointed out, knowing that would cut through her protective instincts.

Lirayne tensed and for a moment, Aly thought she was going to backhand the human. But instead, she slowly relaxed and nodded. "You're right," she said reluctantly. "The last thing I want to do is put her at more risk."

"I think we've missed something," the wizard said.

The priestess sat back down and pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. "Our assassins are trying to kill my daughter and they're apparently willing to work their way through the family tree until they get to her," she replied. "Why is a long, complicated story that I'd rather not touch on. Cess, are you sure the Spider Queen took over what Shami-Amourae...set in motion?"

"Not perfectly, obviously, but enough that She could feasibly use the vessel. For short periods of time now. Later? Who knows," Cessair said. She carefully avoided alluding to the fact that Llolfaen was that particular vessel. No need to have House Druu'giir too well informed of what were basically Duskryn secrets.

"Matron Siniira will want to hear this," Lirayne said. She looked tired, like this had somehow taken something else out of her. The cleric looked over at Galen. "Are you going to stay here and talk to your sister?"

"I'll go with you," Galen said, recognizing a subtle 'I don't want to be alone' when he heard it. Lirayne would never ask him to be with her for fear of showing weakness, so she hinted at it in ways he'd learned to read. He stood with a little bit of a groan, feeling the strain in his knees and back. All those years of running around in armor, jumping around and swinging a sword, had proven to be hard on his bones and joints. But when he saw the little flicker of insecurity in Lirayne's eyes, he wanted nothing more to go and put his arms around her. Unfortunately, that would hardly be appropriate.

Lirayne stepped out into the hallway with him and turned, looking into those familiar earnest eyes. "Why is what happened at that temple never over?" she asked quietly. A little tremor had escaped with the words and she hated it. But some wounds ran too deep to completely heal. She still had nightmares, even with thirty-one years behind her. Llolfaen and Galen made it easier, serving as a reminder that something good had come out of it. But life was threatening to take at least one of those away from her.

Galen let his hand rest on the small of her back for just a moment, gently guiding her to start walking again. He knew it would remind her that he was there. "I don't know. What I do know is that we can protect Llolfaen until she's strong enough to hold her own. Which probably won't be long now, honestly. Drow grow faster than I realized."

"It's all the murder," Lirayne said. She tried to make it light but couldn't really manage. "Let's go home."

The human nodded. Thirty years ago, he never would have believed the Underdark could ever be his home, let alone a drow House in a drow city. Now? He was glad it had happened this way. "Do you want me to check on her at the Academy? You can't go, but I can at your request. No one pays attention to a servant."

"I do," she said, bumping him with her hip as they walked. The gratitude was enough to lift her bleak mood for at least a few moments. "And yes, I'd like that very much."

Back in the room, Cessair looked over at Sabal. "Yvonnel will want to know," she said. "I need to talk to Honored Alystin, if you would be so kind as to share all this with the Revered Daughter in my place?"

"Very well," Sabal said, standing up. She didn't have a good reason to refuse, no matter how wary the wizard looked. Besides, if anyone was going to find out more by investigating the cult, it would be Aly. "I'll make sure to give Matron Nedelyne some kind of excuse for you."

"That's appreciated," Cessair said, walking Sabal to the door and closing it behind the wilder. She turned around. "Do you remember the last time we spoke, Honored Alystin? You told us what you needed."

Aly relaxed a little now that she knew where the conversation was going. "I did," she confirmed.

"What would you say if I told you that the Queen of Sorrows could give you what you wanted?" Cessair said.

"I would say 'Why?'," the mage said, crossing her arms. It was a thoughtful gesture more than a defensive one. She wanted Sabal free, but a deal with a demon always came with the strings attached.

"Because you can be so much more than what you are," the tiefling said with a twitch of her tail. She walked over and picked up her glass, sipping the brandy pensively.

Aly felt a little shiver run down her spine. "At what cost?"

"It is a favor that cannot be bestowed on a follower of Eilistraee. It would never be allowed. You would have to leave the Dark Maiden's service."

"And have no one to protect me from Lloth? I may be foolish at times, but I'm not completely stupid."

Cess gave her a crooked smile. "And how protected are you, exactly? Left to fend for yourself and live forever in secrecy, always fearing for your life and watching over your shoulder. You can't even trust Sabal completely, can you? She knows it," the rogue said. "How long do you think that can really last?"

"You-"

"I'm offering you a way out, Alystin Kenafin," Cessair said, using her real name so frighteningly casually. "Everything requires giving something up. What I'm asking of you is something better lost than held: let go of this life you already hate. Serve the Lady of Sacrifice instead and you will have what you have asked for. She watches over Her followers."

Aly stopped and took a deep breath. It was true, she was tired of hiding. And sometimes she did feel as though Eilistraee had abandoned her. Rationally, she knew it was her fault for deciding to stay in the Underdark, but that didn't change the niggling little sense of betrayal. "I need some time to think about your offer, Cessair."

"Take all the time you need. If you decide in favor, go to Niar'hannenlyn. Just tell them I sent you. If not? Continue on as you have and I will not mention this conversation or any of what was said again. You can rely on my discretion," the tiefling said. She winked at the wary drowess. "Unlike most of this city, I can keep someone else's secret."

"I...believe you." And as strange as it sounded, Alystin really did.

* * *

"My Lady, you have a visitor," Sehaneth said, watching as her demonic mistress took off her helmet and shook out her white hair. Where once Valyne had eschewed armor because her body couldn't handle the weight and casting spells at the same time, now she had no need to worry. Her unholy strength could more than compensate. The demon lord's bloodlust seemed sated for the moment as only battle could. There were still spatters of foes' blood and bone across her dark face but they didn't seem to bother her. The former angel regretted that she had not taken the field alongside her lady, but Valyne had insisted that it wasn't time yet. Sehaneth was still adjusting to her new form with its new strengths and weaknesses.

The former angel still retained her beauty, but it was crueler and harsher now. She had taken the form of a succubus, albeit one more suited to battle than manipulation. She combed clawed fingers through her golden hair and tried not to think of how unsettled the particular guest had left her. Graz'zt was a hard creature to put off, no matter how unwilling the object of his desire. She'd fled to her mistress's protection as soon as Valyne returned from battle.

"Is it important?" Val asked, white eyes narrowing at her faithful servant. She still appreciated loyalty for its rarity, much like veins of precious metal among otherwise unvalued, rough rock. But even with that said, she did not bother to conceal her displeasure. She'd been looking forward to a bath and a chance to dine with her own court uninterrupted.

"It's Lord Graz'zt," Sehaneth admitted. She knew her mistress wouldn't be happy to hear that, but she'd be even less happy to walk into the audience hall without knowing.

Val sighed. "Thank you, Sehaneth," she said with a hint of resignation, continuing to strip off her armor. When it was all discarded onto the floor, she motioned to it with her hand. "If you would take care of this?"

Sehaneth smiled, exposing sharp white teeth. She knew well enough that the Lady of Sacrifice had just given her an excuse to completely avoid the audience hall and any undue attention. More than that, it was a task that implied trust-the demon lord was confident that the newest addition to her household would not sabotage her armor in an effort to ensure her defeat. "I am ever your servant, my Lady," she said, bowing before going to pick up the armor.

Satisfied that at least something would be taken care of the way she liked it, Val turned on her heel and strode into the audience hall. She knew her clothes were still blood-stained, but making Graz'zt wait would only be disastrous for her retainers. While it had been strange at first to be in a position so like her mother's, now she found a certain pleasure in tending to her estate. The hall of Vallashan's capital were almost elven in their beauty and aesthetic tastes, slender pillars of light gray stone rising into vaulted arches adorned with spiralling incantations in Abyssal. Vibrant tapestries adorned the walls while banners hung above in the audience hall, invaluable rugs leading the way to a dark throne inlaid in silver with words of power in the Black Speech. Wide windows looked out onto gardens filled with flowers and trees caught in eternal autumn, their leaves red and gold as they trembled and rustled in soft breezes that danced across the mirror-like surface of reflecting pools.

"Ah, my favorite temptress. You've done a wonder with Vallashan," Graz'zt said, standing near the basin of water perpetually scrying on the battlefield that stood in the center of the room, supported by two carved onyx statues of angels. He found it delightfully ironic, almost as appealing as their owner. She still smelled like blood and smoke, intoxicating things to a demon. "Far more tasteful than what your father would have done. There would have been slime and crawling things everywhere."

"Everyone has told me I favor my mother," she said noncommittally, well aware of how the handsome demon was looking at her with those emerald eyes. She was still as disinterested as she had been the day he first made his offer.

"How fortunate for that," Graz'zt said, smoothing his dark hair with one hand. It brushed across the six horns with an expert touch-he was a creature accustomed to vanity. "It seems you're regrettably interested in business at the moment."

"That would be an accurate interpretation of my mood, yes," Val said, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms. "What can I do for you?"

"What is Malcanthet up to?" he asked with narrowing eyes. "I know that you know. You're helping her."

Val laughed softly. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she said with a rare smile that exposed her fangs, looking so amused as to almost be delighted. "But since you asked, you're going to have to be a little bit more specific. I honestly don't have the time to even count every scheme she's involved in."

He sauntered closer, halting at an arm's length when he saw something dangerous flicker in her expression. Graz'zt was powerful, yes, but he knew the ruler of Vallashan was not to be trifled with. She had been in the Abyss only a little more than what seemed like a few moments and already she was perhaps even more in tune with its nature than he was. Certainly, the plane seemed to surrender many of its secrets to her patient unraveling of the truth. "Why is she courting the favor of a greater deity and stringing along your father even as you erode away his foundation from the shadows? It seems so much work for the petty Abyssal schemes she's usually occupied with." It always satisfied him to no end that she had less than no familial loyalty, at least where her father was concerned.

"Nothing you need to worry about, Graz'zt. Demogorgon, on the other hand…" Val said, letting it trail off suggestively. She didn't know how much of that was true or not. She knew that Malcanthet was arranging who would be the Prince of Demons to unify the Abyss and thought Demogorgon was unsuited to the task of taking on the higher realms, but whether the Queen of Succubi had chosen Graz'zt or Orcus for the position was unclear.

"How very...cryptic," Graz'zt said, narrowing his eyes.

"What, am I her keeper now?" Val asked. She was still in a fine humor now that she had him irritated and perhaps even slightly confused. "Now, if you don't mind, I have generals to entertain while they're off the field and plans to make. As much as I adore your company, Graz'zt, duty calls."

He knew an evasion when he heard it, but he was unable to really complain as she motioned for Ezaror to show him out. The glabrezu was a giant figure, two of its four arms ending in powerful pincers while the others ended in claws. Despite its frightening appearance, however, it moved easily and obeyed its mistress almost docilely. "I will have an answer out of you," he said over his shoulder as he walked out with the monstrous demon at his side.

"Someday," she agreed, confident that he would only have his answer when Malcanthet's plans had come to fruition.


	8. Close to the Heart

Tension fills every single muscle in her body, knotting sinew and pinching nerves. Armor clanks sharply as she strips it off in a fury and leaves it strewn across the floor. Sometimes, her sister is more than she can stand. Sometimes, she wishes there is more she can do to protect her daughter. Galen says she is fine at the Academy, or at least as well as can be expected with the normal trials and tribulations that face her there. But now it is the end of the day, and nothing has gone smoothly. Assassins, demon lords, politics within and without the House. Were it not for the youthful vigor of elvenkind, she would be as wizened and careworn as some surface hag just from the anxiety. Is this how her mother felt when each of her own daughters left the House to be trained? It explains the silver in the Matron's hair.

A faint warmth passes over her ebony skin as she runs a cantrip across her body to remove dirt and untangle the knots in her hair. Unfortunately, it does nothing for her muscles. She's been clenching her jaw again, almost hard enough to crack a tooth.

To the outside world, she is ever angry and uncaring, as cruel and callous as any female drow. She is evil, weaving tangled webs of honeyed lies and false promises just to secure her own position and even advance through the ranks of the wicked. It is a reputation she embraces heartily, knowing the cost should it ever falter. It is one too high to ever pay. Some days, she forgets where the mask ends and her own true face begins. Once upon a time, there was no difference. But that seems a lifetime ago. She has changed, the world has changed. And in many ways, she has simply grown up.

She scrutinizes her face in the mirror, seeing hints of exhaustion in her flint eyes. The fevered, protective rage that has driven her through the day is starting to trickle away. She looks the same as she did thirty years ago, still young and harsh and lovely. It is the eyes that have aged. They are wiser now, collected even when she seems to be barely holding herself back from violence. This is what evil looks like to the world.

And yet...

The door opens quietly and she hears familiar footsteps. They are not soft and quiet like a drow's, clunking like a dwarf's, or a mere whisper of sound like Cessair's. Only Galen walks with that certain, methodical, soldier's tread. "You're tense," he says softly, hands settling on her shoulders. She wants to snap at him for the obvious statement, but then she feels his thumbs moving in slow circles to work out the knots. She sighs and relaxes a little, slowly feeling the aches start to evaporate.

Eventually, she knows, age will take him from her. She isn't certain how she will handle not having him in her life. Will it make her bitter and angry again? Will she shatter like glass? Or will she simply accept and make her peace with it before moving on? Time has already etched lines in his face and greyed his hair and beard. The thought sometimes makes something in her chest clench unpleasantly under the icy hand of that certain, marching, inescapable dread.

Long ago, she would have thrown a lover too old or too slow or too weak away. She remembers treating males as if disposable, tossing them away the moment she grew bored or tired of them. Sometimes she was cruel and other times she was simply indifferent. She was never gentle and neither were they, each expecting to get the most out of the encounter at the other's expense. It was a battle in an overarching war between genders. None of them would have offered to tend to her simply for the contentment it brought them. There was no such warmth in the world of the drow that she had seen, other than that stolen by true lovers as much as they existed here in the darkness.

She wants to purr as he places a kiss behind one pointed ear. It isn't excitement or a desire to leap into bed. For now, she is content to bask in the warmth of his presence and just be held. It is an alien emotion, but one that she has grown comfortable with over the course of around thirty years. She makes a murmuring sound without words and he pulls her tight against his broad chest.

"Love you," Galen says in his surface tongue because he can never find the right words in drow. She doesn't say it back and never has, but he knows anyway. It's obvious in the soft way she looks at him sometimes when no one else is watching, the way she still lays her legs across his lap and reads, the way she heals his wounds in battle before her own.

"I know."

And that is enough for both of them.

She knows some people have figured out that occasionally Galen is in her room as something other than a careful bodyguard. They think of him as a toy and wonder why she hasn't cast him off too. It is beyond them to even imagine something close to the truth. No one is terribly surprised: she is still young enough and the young are wont to sample new things.

It's more than that, of course. The invisible line she once thought should never be crossed has been erased by the weakening of her own defenses. Now she is here, lying in the bed with her head on his chest, almost lost in the feeling of his hand stroking her hair and the steady beat of his heart under her cheek. There are no expectations and no fears. There is no past and no future. Simply a moment in time with just the two of them where all the parts of daily life that drive her to distraction fall away. For a little while she is not a priestess of the Spider Queen, not a Matron's daughter, not a noble of Menzoberranzan. She is just Lirayne.

Everything with Galen is gentle and soothing, and that has made all the difference.

* * *

A thousand schemes ruled the City of Spiders in a vast, interconnecting web. Nothing happened without a reason. And, as Ilamin had learned, nothing came without a cost. The aasimar stood stiff in the accursed woman's office. He was still dressed in all back with a mask over his face and a polymorph spell concealing his true nature under the face of a drow.

Drisinil smiled faintly, sensing his discomfort. "You seem to be having difficulties," she said calmly and completely friendly. It only put him more on edge along with the fact that he couldn't detect anything of her nature with magic. "Perhaps I can render assistance."

"And why would you do that?" he said. He had been invited and against his better judgment, he'd gone. They were having absolutely no luck with House Duskryn. The best of their number, Arsinoe, was dead now after having tried to strike down the accursed tiefling, epitome of the evil they faced. And now here he was, speaking to the daughter of Arach-Tinilith's mistress.

Drisinil pulled off a pendant and tossed it to him. Kenafin's only surviving number had rather poetically created the circumstances for her own problem. It was a gift that kept on giving, as far as the priestess of Lloth was concerned. "Because of this."

He caught it easily and cautiously opened up his hand. There, in glimmering silver, was the symbol of Eilistraee. He had heard tell of the dark elves who sought to escape or even overthrow Lloth in the name of light. But he had not supposed he would ever meet one. And for Drisinil Baenre to be amongst their number…. "You?" he sputtered out, looking up so quickly he almost gave himself whiplash.

"Do you see anyone else in this room?" she said with a genuine smile. She couldn't help finding all this delightful. "I help you, you help me. I can tell you where what you really want is, and you can remove a little problem of mine."

"What problem?" Ilamin said suspiciously, frowning.

"One of the agents of the Church investigating you is Alystin Druu'giir. She knows about that little secret you're holding in your hand. I need her to die or I will, and she's already in your way," Drisinil explained more grimly, sitting down. She loved playing a part like this, swaying someone subtly to do what she wanted to do. Whether they succeeded or not with Duskryn was hardly her problem and if she could get rid of Kenafin in the process, so much the better.

Ilamin frowned deeply, running his thumb across the engraved image of a long-haired dancer holding a sword aloft. "And in return, what do we receive?"

"I tell you where the girl you're looking for is, Llolfaen Duskryn," Drisinil said.

"You would allow her to die?" Ilamin said suspiciously. That didn't sound good.

"She's one of Lloth's chosen. That makes her an enemy. Her death is regrettable, but necessary for the continued safety of the Dark Maiden's followers. And apparently the whole of the Upper Realms," Drisinil said sincerely. That was the key: sincerity. Once she'd learned to fake that, she'd had it made.

The disguised aasimar tossed the pendant back. "We have an accord, then," he said quietly, not certain whether or not he really trusted the woman he was talking to. On the other hand, they had been unable to locate the girl on their own. She was not with her House, nor apparently anywhere else in the city of Menzoberranzan that they had been permitted to enter. And the death of a Church agent was not such a problem, really. Just another enemy. "Show me where the girl may be found."

"She is here at the Academy, which is why you've been unable to find her in your search," Drisinil said. She motioned for him to approach the mirror near where she was standing and then let her fingers ghost over the reflective surface with a murmured incantation. The room's reflection in the glass swam for a minute, then vanished. It was replaced by the image of a girl trying to pour over books while half asleep, brushing her long white hair back out of her grey eyes. "This is Llolfaen. Now you have a face to put to your name. Her room is in the west halls. I cannot guide you there for risk of being implicated, but I can give you a charm that will lead you there."

"If you would be so kind?" he said, still committing the girl's face to memory. "I will send two of my men to see this threat removed. The demons will not have their victory today."

Drisinil held out a pendant. Instead of dangling straight down as normal, it was hovering diagonally, indicating what he thought was west. "Then this will guide them. Remember, Alystin Druu'giir." Yvonnel had been right: her business with House Kenafin would remain unfinished until there were none of them left.

Ilamin gave her a hard look with his blue eyes. "Of course I will remember," he said sternly. "We have an agreement."

Her smile seemed to brighten slightly. "I hope you honor it as I have," she said simply. "Now please, go take care of your business. I will ensure the Academy guards are not in the area and will be delayed."


	9. The Lady's Servant

"Let me come with you," Sabal said quietly. Her voice wasn't quite pleading, but it was close as she watched Aly shut her books. The wilder sat on the very edge of her chair, hands knotted into fists and pressing against her thighs. Her whole body seemed tense now. "Cessair is a known quantity, but those other cultists could turn on you in a heartbeat. Please Aly."

The mage looked up. "No, Sabal. If I walk in there with an inquisitor, they won't trust me." Aly was a little frustrated. First Nede had been worried about her after the brush with Lirayne's assassins, and now Sabal didn't seem to trust her on her own. "Maybe it is dangerous, but I'm a House Wizard. I'm more than equal to the task."

"I..." The wilder's brow did not smooth out of its worried furrowing. "I know that. But I have a bad feeling."

"And a feeling is just a feeling," Aly said as she stood. She stepped close and took Sabal's hands in her own. "Don't worry."

Sabal sighed. It was strange how far away Alystin's thoughts felt to her now. "You're distancing yourself from me," she said, allowing the wizard to let go of her hands. All she wanted from the mage was trust, but that wasn't possible for Aly any more.

"After thirty years, I think I deserve to be a little distant," Aly said defensively. Immediately, amber eyes dropped to the ground and she felt a sympathetic pang. That had been unfair, even if accurate. "Sabal..."

"You're right," the wilder said, standing up and heading for the door. It didn't matter if it hadn't been her choice. She had still been gone too long. She had to find some way to fix it, but now was not the time. If this was what Aly wished, she knew she would only make it worse by putting her foot down. "Yvonnel will have things for me to do. Please hurry back."

Sabal left Aly to the last of her preparations without looking back, uncertain of where she was heading. She let her feet take her to a familiar place: the steps leading up the hall to the Chapel of Lloth, one of the places Xullae had loved to make her scrub. She brushed a thumb over the smooth stone as she sat down to think. It must have been fifteen or twenty minutes she spent there alone on the steps unmoving, her amber eyes staring off into space.

"Someone looks thoughtful," a silvery voice said.

Sabal's head snapped up, eyes almost narrowing slightly when she saw Yvonnel there. If she hadn't been so thoroughly punished by the Revered Daughter... "Is this cause for the Church's concern now?"

"No," Yvonnel said simply, combing her fingers through her thick hair. Her crimson eyes were thoughtful as they pondered the wilder sitting in front of her. "I spoke to House Duskryn's Matron. She wanted to convey her gratitude to you for aiding the defense of her daughter. It is a rare thing to have the thanks of any Matron Mother. I thought you would appreciate hearing it. May I?"

Sabal softened slightly. Hearing news like that was enough to ease part of her less than stellar mood. After all, perhaps that meant she had something approaching an ally in Siniira Duskryn. "Of course."

The two of them had never gotten along well, but how many female drow did? They were hardly rivals, either. More master and servant than anything else. But the moment Yvonnel sat down next to her, the playing field seemed to level ever so slightly. "You seem distracted."

"It will not detract from my duties."

"Ah, so it's your pet heretic," Yvonnel said as her lips quirked up at the corners into a small smile. "Sometimes I almost worry about you, Sabal. You seem to actively seek out pain."

Sabal frowned faintly. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Ah, to be young again." The priestess sighed with something like nostalgia. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees with a soft rustle of fabric from her robes. "What did Xullae teach you about matters of the heart?"

"That caring is pain." The wilder closed her eyes, willing away the feeling of Xullae's last moments. "And that it is sacrifice. Letting go of your life so they may have theirs."

"It may be time that you follow that example, no matter how painful. Alystin's path is not yours. It never will be," Yvonnel said quietly. She rubbed her palms against each other in slow circles. "I know what it is to let go of something like that. But sometimes it comes back to you. There is only one way to know."

"I...will consider that," Sabal said, ignoring the knife twisting in her chest at the idea. The priestess had a point no matter how unpleasant it was to consider it. Being near Alystin was painting a target on the mage's back. There were more than enough people who would love to cause a wound through the House Wizard. And how happy did was she? without trust, there could never be anything more than the physical, if even that. She looked up as the Revered Daughter stood up. "Where are you off to, Revered Yvonnel?"

"I'm a busy woman, Honored Sabal. You should know that better than anyone," Yvonnel said brusquely as if they hadn't even spoken. She grinned. "But if you must know, sabotaging a rival's reputation. I intend to savor every moment."

And that was the nature of the woman in a nutshell, Sabal decided. Thoughtful, almost approachable one moment and then a typical, if frighteningly cunning, priestess at the next.

* * *

Niar'hannelyn was little more than a crumbling ruin in the darkness save for a few buildings that looked like they'd been restored more than a decade ago. The area seemed to have been reclaimed by the wilderness. Monstrous spiders spun their webs in what had once been the main street as their goblin prey chattered and darted among the outlying buildings. Nothing in the Underdark remained unoccupied for too long. It was a mercy there was nothing particularly powerful making its home here, though Alystin did see the two-legged figure of a drake perched up on one of the slowly decaying towers.

It was only when she reached the very heart of the city, a strange circle of plate glass as dark as obsidian that still thrummed with Abyssal magic, that she saw signs of life. Braziers stood on either side of a perfect replica of the statue now standing in the depths of Arach-Tinilith's vaulted records. The weeping face of the demon lord seemed almost alive. She was so busy looking at it that she didn't even hear the approach of others behind her.

"What is your business here?" a sharp but very familiar voice demanded.

"Jhaele?" Aly cried, spinning around. Out of all the people in the world she expected to be approached by in this place, it was not a High Priestess of Eilistraee. A grin broke out across her face and she almost sprang forward to hug the woman. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same, Alystin," Jhaele said, raising an eyebrow. She was smiling now. And she was not alone: two male drow and a slender female svirfneblin stood behind her with weapons drawn. The drowess motioned for them to put them away.

Aly cleared her throat. "I'm looking for a group of people here in Niar'hannenlyn. Cessair, the tiefling that works with the Revered Daughter sent me. Not that it means I'm in good with the Church."

Jhaele's expression changed and she shifted from foot to foot almost as if nervous. "Well, this is...awkward. We're the ones that you're looking for. There are more back in the refuge, but-"

The mage gaped. "You?" she managed. "Jhaele, how? You...the Dark Maiden..."

"Aly, you know what it's like to hold to that faith down here. I was hounded out of the city, stripped of everything I owned, my friends and family put to the question. It's fortunate you were not included in that, probably by virtue of your status. But for a commoner like me, it is not so easy to avoid scrutiny. Eilistraee is a fine goddess, but she is a distant one here in the darkness, or at least she was when I was forced into exile. Perhaps she is focused on Lloth. I do not know. But when I stumbled into this place, I knew I was home. You must be here for similar reasons," Jhaele explained with her trademark patience. She had always been gentle and even-tempered for a drow.

Aly felt like she was doing a fine impression of a fish out of water. After a moment, however, she managed to collect herself and her thoughts. "They haven't found me out yet, though I think the Revered Daughter has her suspicions," she admitted.

"Unfortunate. That said, we can protect you," Jhaele said. "Come with us back to the refuge and we'll explain more. Everyone who comes to the fold has questions and I imagine you'll be no exception. Also, if Shyn relaxes enough to come close, don't panic."

The wizard looked puzzled. "Who is Shyn?"

"Shyntafay. Let's just say not all of the webs in this place were created by the spiders," Jhaele said, her expression sympathetic towards the absent friend. "Now come on."

That was how Alystin ended up sitting on a comfortable couch in one of the ruined buildings, surrounded by a small, mixed group of races. Apparently the Lady of Sacrifice wasn't bothered by the worship of creatures other than drow. The only unnerving one was Asaron, an undisguised succubus comfortably seated in lap of one of the male drow. "Don't mind me," the succubus practically purred. "It's delightful to have a new face around."

"Asar is in charge when Cessair is gone," Jhaele explained gently to the somewhat nervous noble. "She isn't going to do anything uncouth to you. Unless you ask. Then she'll be on you like goblins on garbage."

"Isn't that flattering," Asaron pouted, voice sarcastic. It vanished when she turned her bright smile to Alystin. "Welcome all the same. It seems the hardest part is over-Jhaele is already willing to vouch for you. The only thing that hasn't happened is your...let's call it a rebirth into this delightful little family. Sacrifice means leaving your old life behind you, Alystin."

The House Wizard took a deep breath. "I think I'm as ready as I'll ever be," she said, glad she managed to keep the tremor out of her voice. If this proved to be a terrible mistake, surely she could return to Eilistraee penitent. But Jhaele's presence, her seemingly whole-hearted endorsement of the group, spoke volumes.

"Very well," Asaron said. She hopped up gracefully, barbed tail flicking with catlike interest. "You know what that means, everyone. Go to the circle and wait for us there. I'll be teaching Alystin the house rules, so it might take a minute or two."

_Great, alone with a succubus_, Aly thought. That was not a place she wanted to be, but the others filed out and left her with Asaron unsupervised.

"Don't look so frightened, Alystin," the demon said, smiling faintly. "You'll be seeing a lot more of me, after all. Don't bite...unless you like that. I take requests."

"I think I'm alright," the drowess said, holding up both hands. "House rules?"

"That's what I call them. Jhaele refers to them as tenants, which is far more impressive in sound and probably accurate. There are five, so it should be easy to handle. First, you are never to turn upon your brothers and sisters. Betrayal is not the way of the Queen of Sorrows," the succubus said, her tone turning to instructive. There was a hard undercurrent to her voice. It indicated in no uncertain terms that Aly did not want to find out what the punishments for breaking the Tenets were. "Second, Lloth is to be respected and venerated as an ally of the Lady of Vallashan. You don't have to like it, but you are not to dishonor the Spider Queen, nor desecrate her holy places or items. Third, an exiled soul in need is never to be turned away without assistance. You must aid them in some way, no matter how slightly. Fourth, the existence and location of the cult's refuges are never to be divulged to anyone who is not a member of the cult. If you have a potential convert, introduce them to Cessair. Finally, you are expected to give no quarter and no assistance to the forces of the celestial realms unless necessary to obtain information. Easy enough?"

"I think I can remember that," Alystin said. Her skin crawled at the idea of paying homage to Lloth in any fashion, but she knew it was necessary. They were approaching the circle now and the aura of demonic magic was even stronger now. Both braziers had been lit and candles marked the points of a pentagram painted onto the black surface with a dark red pigment. It looked intimidating, potent and ancient magic that drew the planes closer together.

Asaron nudged her with a wing to stand before the statue and the pentagram. "Lady of Sacrifice, Queen of Sorrows, Mother of the Exiled, Heart of Vallashan, bestow your attentions upon your servants. We bring a new soul to your embrace," the succubus said in a loud, clear voice. Almost immediately, a wind picked up around them and whipped in a howling circle centered on the statue. Alystin felt a flood of divine magic rush into the area, something like she'd never sensed before. They certainly had the attention of something.

Jhaele stepped up next to Alystin. "You need to be certain you want to do this, Aly."

Alystin pulled in another deep breath. "I am. Tell me what I need to say." She listened, then nodded and focused on the statue. "My Lady, accept me into your arms that I might serve you in this life and beyond. Make your children my brothers and sisters in spirit. Bless me so that I may take my place in your service."

A soft whispering in some language older than even Abyssal started, emanating out from the statue, growing louder and louder. The darkness deepened until not even drow could see and wrapped itself around the wizard like a second skin. Aly felt it like the softest fabric in the world against her skin. It set every nerve in her body on fire, as if burning away past scars with divine magic. She could see the bond, shining in the darkness, linking her to the statue and the distant figure beyond it.

**Welcome home**, it whispered.


	10. Dreams

._.."Araushnee!" they called after her with anger in their voices as she fell deeper and deeper down the forest slopes, tumbling into the darkest parts of the wood. Down and down, where the woods ended and the twisting brambles began. The horrible, twisted plants clawed at her flesh, her skin, pulling at her clothes and the very fabric of her being. She sees fragments of herself, memories, caught on the thorns. But they weren't her memories, she realized. As the sounds of the voices trailed off, she could hear nothing in the silence save for the beating of some ancient, massive, wholly alien heart. _

_It was a siren song, a lure that drew her deeper and deeper into the darkness. It twisted her vision and spun her around and around until she didn't know up from down let alone right from wrong..._

Llolfaen fell out of bed with a muted cry, head feeling like it was going to burst even before she knocked it against the flagstones. Her pursuers had been...faeries. At least, from everything she heard of their descriptions. But the pale drow-like creatures had not seemed weak, not when they took to her heels armed. What was 'araushnee'? A curse, a warning, what? It wasn't an elven word she'd learned from Galen or Cessair. Why had the figures looked so painfully beautiful and so strangely familiar? It was like stepping into someone else's dream.

That particular snippet was only a brief flash of lucidity in the middle of insane nightmares she had been unable to awaken from. Or at least, in reality. Many times she thought she'd woken up only to be in another dream. This seemed somewhat real, but how could she tell? Pain wasn't a real measure, considering how much of it she'd felt in her other dreams and how completely authentic it seemed then. Llolfaen laid her head against the stone floor and willed herself to calm down. If this was another nightmare, she would need to be prepared to fight off whatever was coming next.

She heard the door creak open and the faintest whisper of sound. It was someone almost as good as Cessair at being quiet. The tiefling seemed to have some supernatural ability at it. Llolfaen did her best not to make a sound as she reached up and slid a hand under her pillow to get one of her daggers from its hiding place. It was still there even in this dream, thankfully.

A voice said very softly in Common, "I don't think she's here, Ilamin. The pendant could be wrong." It sounded feminine, but very foreign. The speaker was almost certainly not a drow, which gave her something of an advantage here in Arach-Tinilith. On the downside, they had made it this far which meant something was seriously wrong with the magical defenses. Or maybe someone had let them in. Llolfaen considered the implications that had for a brief moment before sliding her body under her bed and inching towards the side by the door. She wasn't confident in her ability to handle them alone, and her mother had always taught her that if the odds were against you it was better to go around than charge straight in.

She could see feet stepping around to the side where she'd just been laying, and that was the moment she moved. The young drowess slid back out from under the bed on the other side, leaped to her feet, and bolted out the door. She heard curses behind her and the sounds of more than one person giving chase. She headed straight for the library at a sprint, crashing through the doors and disturbing the five students up late studying: Jhalass and some of her minions. They could be very useful at the moment. "There are surface dwellers in the Academy!" Llolfaen barked out.

Immediately all of them were on their feet, books sliding out of laps and off the table as it was almost upended. "Are you certain?" Jhalass said, even as she readied a spell. As soon as she'd spoken, the two aasimar came skidding through the doorway. Without hesitation, Llolfaen's rival let loose a powerful spell, hitting the female with a curse. Llolfaen whipped around and slapped Ilamin. It was more than a blow: it was another spell, one that tore open wounds across his body. The aasimar man screamed before drawing his knife and lunging at the young drowess.

It was like one of her mother's drills all over again. Llolfaen darted to the side, turning a stab to the lower abdomen into a graze across her hip. She flipped her own knife into a reverse grip and stabbed into his arm, twisting viciously in an effort to take out the nerves that kept his off hand moving. She carefully kept her other hand up to guard.

Five drow clerics, even initiates, were more than a match for two aasimar assassins. The female dropped with a cry, blonde hair spilling into the pool of blood rapidly forming on the floor. Ilamin cut and ran. He was unfortunately nimble enough to escape.

"How in the hells did they get in?" Jhalass panted. She and Llolfaen had done the heavy lifting while the others supported and healed. "Why were they here?"

"To kill someone, I assume. Maybe Revered Quenthel?" Llolfaen suggested.

Jhalass looked incredulously at the dead woman. "What, the two of them? If we could dispatch them, Revered Quenthel could do it in a heartbeat."

"I imagine there's more than two," Llolfaen said irritably, because of course Jhalass was in her dream. Wasn't she obnoxious enough in real life? Still, it had proven advantageous at this point. Whether she liked it or not, the other girl was a talented cleric. "They got past all the defenses to get to this point. That seems a little suspicious to me. Not even drow could breach them during the war."

"You think someone let them in. Who and why?" Jhalass mused aloud. She looked over at Llolfaen. "As much as I hate to even suggest it, I think we need to tell the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith."

Llolfaen clenched her jaw. She was pretty sure that even in dreams, Quenthel Baenre was not going to enjoy being bothered in the middle of her rest by students. "Fine," she said. It was hard not to be terse with all the tension she felt at the plan. She honestly would have rather faced down the two assassins alone than taken on this particular task. And then the mention her would-be attackers had made of an amulet rose from her memory to the front of her mind. She crouched down and searched the female's body until she came across a finely made pendant swinging towards her from a golden, thread-like chain. She tucked it in her pocket, hoping she could divine something about its original owner.

Who would want to have her killed? Llolfaen looked at Jhalass speculatively, but knew that was the wrong answer. If, and this was a large if, the defenses had been deactivated, that implied someone with a lot of power and influence was behind it. Maybe it was an enemy of her mother's or the Matron's seeking to strike out at the younger generation to cripple their House's future. Maybe it was even someone within the House, like Zesstra.

She fell in step beside Jhalass, both of them trying to ignore the current of dislike running between them. "Where did you find them, anyway?" the other girl asked to break the tense silence.

"Hallway," Llolfaen lied comfortably. Since she'd come to the Academy, her ability to deceive had truly blossomed. The world was, as the Matron had said, a web of lies. Was anything really true? There were only certain constants like power and weakness. She wasn't certain how to feel about loyalty. Even at her age, she had seen it manipulated almost countless times. But on the other hand there stood her mother, Galen, Cessair, and the Matron. All four were loyal, whether to each other or an ideal or both.

"And you came running into the library because...?"

"I probably would have been able to hold my own against the pair, but not forever. I knew someone would be in the library even at this hour, so I went there. The theory was that either they would be killed by the library's occupants or I would have a meat-shield to distract them while I got away," the favored soul said as they approached the door.

"I should be offended, as your potential meat-shield, but that is a very good plan," Jhalass admitted. "Particularly with a rival as fodder for the enemy."

"That? Happy coincidence," Llolfaen said. This was almost certainly a dream—surface dwellers in the Academy? As if that would ever happen—but there was still a chance that she was out of her nightmares. What a lucky escape that would be. She knocked on Quenthel's door loudly and sharply before taking a deep breath to calm her nerves.

Both girls flinched back visibly when the door was ripped open by the furious Mistress of Arach-Tinilith. The half-dressed, half-asleep woman clearly had a problem with being awoken. "What in the Demonweb do you miserable little creatures want?" she snarled, a spell crackling to life in one hand. It could probably kill them both by itself.

"There are...were?...surface dwellers in the Academy," Llolfaen said, eyes focused on the hand with the spell readied. It was like when her mother made a dagger dance in her hands: hypnotic and deadly.

Quenthel went very still at that, looking much more awake. Her eyes narrowed sharply as she looked at the two students. "Are they alive still?"

"One escaped. He may have made it out," Jhalass reported uneasily. She didn't want to be punished for that particular little failure.

Fortunately, Quenthel's thoughts seemed to be elsewhere. She frowned. "No alarms went off, no defenses reacted. Otherwise I would have known," she said. Storm-clouds seemed to be brewing in the distance of her eyes. "You are to tell no one of this or both of you will no longer be at Arach-Tinilith. I will have the body or bodies of the intruders removed. Have I made myself abundantly clear?"

Llolfaen and Jhalass both bowed their heads. "Yes, Revered Quenthel," they said together with the utmost respect. Even if Llolfaen didn't like or trust Quenthel, she was not about to be rude or impertinent. For one thing, it would have disappointed her mother and the Matron. They believed in manners even regarding enemies.

"Now leave," she said to Jhalass. Quenthel's sharpened eyes came to rest on the youngest noble of House Duskryn. Her lip wasn't curled, but she still didn't look pleased with the child of House Baenre's enemies. "You're Lirayne's daughter, aren't you?" she said coolly.

"Yes, Revered Quenthel." Llolfaen wasn't certain where this line of questioning was going, but she would probably not enjoy it.

"I've heard about you from your instructors. At least pretend to be a better student for the sake of your House's reputation. Siniira may be a common bitch, but she's a demanding one," Quenthel said with a tone that impied she was thoroughly unimpressed. And she was—the girl simply couldn't manage the most basic parts of spell preparation. How she managed to fumble through a casting was a mystery. "Now go."

Llolfaen bit her tongue and turned, striding down the hallway. She caught Jhalass still in earshot. "What now?" the daughter of House Duskryn asked waspishly.

"I told my sister, Chessa, about you. She said you're probably a favored soul. Dangerous and more than that, rare. Why didn't you just tell Quenthel what you are?" Jhalass asked, brow furrowed slightly in thought.

"I try to have as little contact with Quenthel Baenre as possible," Llolfaen said. She jerked her head towards the way they'd come from their little meeting with the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith. "And that's why."

"I can see that," Jhalass admitted. She knew as well as anyone that Quenthel Baenre hated Siniira Duskryn with a passion few could ever hope to match. It had to be more than just the Matron of House Duskryn's low birth status. Something unforgivable had been said or done, perhaps a wound to pride that cut deep and lasting. "Are you ready to compete tomorrow?"

"Would I tell you?" Llolfaen shot back, picking up her pace. This was definitely real, which meant on the bright side, she had escaped the nightmares for now. On the unpleasant side, she was awake and had just been exposed to Quenthel's particular brand of charm. She didn't want to sleep, but what other choice did she have? She needed all the rest she could get.

The next morning, Llolfaen found Solaufein waiting on the edge of the area of caverns used to test the students at the Academy, terrain magically manipulated to be even more perilous and constantly different. One could walk in and by the time they tried to leave, the path might have changed all over again. The male drow ruffled his short white hair, blood red eyes friendly towards her. To his fellow students of Melee-Magthere he was a growling, grim warrior prone to fighting like a wild beast. Most priestesses found him mildly diverting, respectful and good-looking enough to draw attention...not necessarily a positive trait for the poor male. "You look tired," he commented as he buckled his shield on.

"It was a long night," she said without elaborating, Quenthel's warning still clear in her mind. Llolfaen smiled slightly as the warrior picked up his helmet. His spear rested against his shoulder. He could handle a sword quite well, but he preferred the reach of a pole-arm. It made for a lethal combination when that wicked spearhead came darting over or under or around his shield. In his armor, he looked almost like an adamantine statue. "You look as ready for battle as always. How you move in all that I don't know."

"You just don't have the brawn for it. Not that you need it with those spells," he chuckled with something approaching fondness.

Llolfaen fluttered her eyelashes, something she'd learned to do from Cessair. Even a tiefling doing it had a strange effect on male drow. "You like me this way." Solaufein almost choked on his own tongue. He was hardly used to being teased by a priestess, even one in training. He muttered something inaudible and put on his helmet, red eyes still wide. It inspired laughter from the favored soul, the first she'd had in days. "Perhaps I'll see you when this is over."

"If it's allowed. I'll see what I can do about getting us on the same team in one of the tests. Master Lesaonar is usually amenable to persuasion," Solaufein said more normally, regaining his composure. It was hard to be prepared for Llolfaen Duskryn sometimes, even with how often they saw each other and how surprisingly well they got along. He'd expected her to be crueler and more aloof. And sometimes she was, but not to him.

"I'm looking forward to it," Llolfaen said with a smile. She heard her name called. "And I'm off. Good luck, Sol."

The grim, growling warrior gave her the faintest of smiles back. It was more than he normally gave anyone. "Good luck."


End file.
